Dark Empire: Jenesis
by KnightoftheWord
Summary: Post KOTOR2. With the defection of 500 Sith and their leader, war with the Empire looms. But before the Jedi can fight them, they must deal with their internal problems; including a mad exile, traitors in their ranks and the Dark Lords Assassin.
1. Glimmer of Hope

Star Wars: The Dark Empire

If you did not read 'Exodus', do not despair. I am laying out this story in a way that it should be readable part by part, as well as in its entirety. If of course you don't think it is, holler.

**Star Wars: The Dark Empire**

**Episode 2 - Jenesis**

_Four thousand years before the rise of the Galactic Empire, there existed an ancient Sith Empire concealed from the Old Republic in uncharted space beyond the outer rim, created with the specific intent of __conquering the Republic__. _

_For __a thousand__ year__s__ it has remained hidden, watching and waiting for the Republic and its Jedi defenders to weaken. Finally__, with the Republic at its weakest point ever and the empire nearly ready for its long-awaited invasion,__ it__s secret existence__ has been exposed by the betrayal of one of its most promising sons__,__ MARKA CABANIC. __While the Republic's generals and politicians work frantically to assemble a capable army and fleet in time, he has the impossible task of turning the depleted Jedi into a force capable of taking on 4,000 savage Sith. But __peace cannot last for long now, it__ is merely the calm before the storm._

_Six months have passed since the __daring __escape of O'Dus. In the Ossus system, Marka races to meet an important contact…_

**Part 1 **–Glimmer of Hope

**Ossus**

Out of the darkest reaches of the galaxy, a small O-wing stealth scout blasted out of hyperspace. Continuing at a controlled speed, the vessel entered the atmosphere of the barren planet of Ossus, glowing brightly as it shot through layers of the various gasses. Entry was smooth and the scout was soon skimming over the planets surface, shimmering in the afternoon sun.

Reaching an area thick with ruins of what once must have been a city, the pilot slowed his vessel, scanning for a clear landing site. He found one on an ancient landing pad, which already had another small craft parked there. Much of the stonework was cracked and broken, but there was sufficient space for the vessel to land. As the scout lowered to the ground, sleds lowered on the underbelly and the engines disengaged with a hiss.

The hatch opened and a man stepped out of the cockpit, stretching to ease his muscles, cramped from being cooped up for the long journey. He was tall, but not unusually so. He wore Jedi robes, indicating his profession, but he had a purple cloak. His deep blue eyes had the far-away look of one who had experienced more hardship than most ever would in a lifetime. He might have been considered handsome once, with his firm, masculine features and strong jaw, but now two scars bisected the left side of his face, from the top of his brow to his chin; and only half his left ear remained. His hair was such a dark brown that it might be mistaken for black except upon close inspection; it was close cropped in a semi-military style. He moved without hurry, but his demeanor spoke of a restless energy, like he could ready for anything at a moment's notice. His forearms were covered with cotortis-woven gauntlets.

He was Marka Cabanic, onetime apprentice of the late Sith master Rengath Fer'rer, who had served directly under the Dark Lord of the Sith. He had led over 500 followers from the dark side to the Jedi, with the help of Kaya; Laman and the Greys. But many more would be needed if they were to have any chance of surviving the upcoming storm. Marka and the contact he was about to meet represented probably the only chance that the Republic had for facing the incredible power of the Sith Masters. How they would ever face the Dark Lord and his apprentice remained moot.

Circling around a blackened dead tree, Marka found his contact waiting. "Drop the disguise," Marka said without uttering any semblance of a greeting. "I need to see if it's true."

The man's face had been guarded by a powerful Force-mirror on all other occasions that he had met Marka. Now he finally let it drop. Marka could not suppress a gasp as he saw the other man for the first time. He could have been Marka's twin, except that his face was more angular, with higher brows and more cavernous eye sockets. Of course, his face was not marred with Marka's scars. He was also noticeably taller and less solidly built.

"No wonder people keep mistaking me for you, Never," said Marka with more than a little awe. "Or should I say, Revan."

Revan, who many thought was the prophesized Chosen One. Revan, Jedi prodigy and hero of the Mandalorian wars. Revan, who had betrayed the Republic to become a Sith Lord, and lead his armada on the unsuspecting Republic. Revan, who had been captured, brainwashed, retrained as a Jedi and finally defeated his old friend Darth Malak to once again become the saviour of the Galaxy. Revan, who had then vanished, leaving the Republic in disarray when it had desperately needed rebuilding, to combat alone the threat of the true Sith. Revan, the one name every person in the Republic knew, whispered about in dark corners and debated in political chambers. Revan, who now lay against a dead tree enjoying the morning sunlight, not bothering to confirm or deny.

"Why do we look so similar?" Marka demanded angrily. In the past six months he had endured attempts to swear fealty to him, requests to have his baby, strange looks from people, plenty of misunderstandings and no end of ill-conceived assassination attempts. This man had certainly made a reputation for himself in the Republic.

"If only I knew," Revan replied sadly.

"Are we related in some way?"

"I thought of that," said Revan, standing up and pacing, "but I highly doubt it. I am an orphan found on the streets of Delaria, a mid-rim world, while you were born and raised in the Sith empire, and you knew your parents."

Marka nodded, he had never known his mother but Revan's statement had been close enough to the truth. From what he had been told, his father and Laman had rescued his mother from one of the Dark Lord's holding cells on Pandema, and that's when they'd met. What she had done to deserve imprisonment remained moot to him though, and Laman refused to share.

"I see now why you did not reveal yourself to me when we first met," said Marka, smiling for the first time.

Revan nodded, smiling as well. "I rather thought you had enough to worry about, without that extra concern. You're actually taking this quite well. Believe me, I was even more shocked to see you for the first time. I had been staring at you for a while before I finally revealed myself."

Marka stood, thinking for a moment. "This might be to our advantage," he said finally, "since our enemies don't know this yet."

"Agreed," Revan nodded. "I'm sure that you have assassins hunting you now, as a result of your actions in the Empire. I could head them off, while you engage the one who is hunting me."

"Do you know who it is?"

"Yes, Jezebel Torin, otherwise known as the Exile."

Marka shrugged. "I heard something about her. Isn't she the one who caused all the trouble on Peragus and Manaan?" Manaan had lost its ability to export kolto as a result of her intrusion, Ahto city was currently being rebuilt, but it would take time before it would be operational again.

"It's much worse than that," said Revan grimly, and began to outline the full extent of Jezebel's depravity and power. He gave a whole account of their history, not bothering to defend his actions on Malachor V, or make light of what he had done to her.

Marka was wide-eyed by the end. "A Force-sensitive who gave up the Force, and now sucks it out of others!" he exclaimed. "I heard of something like that being experimented on in the Empire, but it all ended in abysmal failure, with tens of thousands dead."

That had been over two centuries ago, and had caused the most serious rebellion in Sith space ever, ousted from first place only recently by the Kalcuta rebellion that had finally ended six months ago, after lasting for nearly seven months.

Revan nodded. "It gets worse. She has latched onto my Force-signature with such intent that if I was to come within sight distance of her, I would die. She's far too powerful for me to resist."

"How am I supposed to face somebody with that sort of power?" asked Marka angrily. "As soon as I get close enough to her, surely the same thing would happen?"

"I don't know," said Revan, "but if there's anyone I would trust to achieve the impossible, it's you."

Marka brushed the compliment aside angrily. "My strength is in lightsaber combat, and against this 'Exile' it would be useless."

"You'll have to find a way, otherwise I'll never be able to return to the Republic. I'm assuming that's why you came to meet me, to persuade me to act as a rallying point for them." Revan said in a mildly dry voice.

Marka stopped in quick surprise. He had forgotten, after dealing with so many Republic buffoons, what it was like to deal with someone as – or more – intelligent than him.

"I thought so," said Revan, smiling wryly when Marka had no comeback remark. "So, now that that's out of the way, who do you think is going to come after you?"

"Probably a few score Force-dead assassins," said Marka, clenching his fist. Force-dead assassins were manufactured from living people using unspeakable methods. The end result was an assassin that was not much deadlier to normal people, but able to nullify all advantages that a Force-user would have had. Their elite were known as the phantoms. Any more than two of them at a time would most likely spell his doom, a fact he was acutely aware of.

A terrible thought then struck him. "Unless…" he had just thought of someone else, someone far, far deadlier.

--

**The border of the outer rim**

Just inside the borders of the Republic, a vessel de-cloaked. It was shaped perfectly like a Republican fuel frigate, but no civilian vessel had ever been outfitted with cloaking capacities. In fact, the technology was far more advanced than anything available in the Republic. It was no Republic ship. It was the 'Intangible', a vessel custom-built in the Sith empire for the specific purpose of infiltrating the Republic. For the past six months it had been flying through the outer rim, not using its hyperspace capacities to eliminate any chance of detection. Even though it was stealth-outfitted, spacecraft traveling through hyperspace was very easy to detect. Now that it was in the Republic though, it would pass without comment so they could now use hyperspace to travel more quickly. The cloaking capacities were now only be a back-up in case of discovery.

On the bridge of the 'Intangible', Korgul Juglur breathed a contented sigh. Finally, after so many months of snail-slow travel they were through the danger zone, where their presence might arouse suspicion. His second-in-command was flying the vessel; he was only one on the entire ship who wasn't unnaturally Force-dead. Honestly, Korgul thought it would have been better had they simply hyperspaced directly into the Republic, their chances of detection would have been minimal with the Republic's military in such disarray in the outer rim, but the Dark Lord's orders had been explicit. Korgul smiled as he looked back on the lines of phantoms immobilized in cold hibernation. The Republic would hardly know what had hit them.

Korgul himself had only one designated target: Marka.

--

**Asteroid field, outer rim**

As a small fighter blasted out of hyperspace nearby, Hugas took a moment to scan its designation before deactivating the targeting systems on his corvette. One could never be too careful in the outer rim, there were plenty of pirates roaming around, not to mention remnants of the Sith and Mandalorian fleets still trying to relive their glory-days. This vessel, though, was none other than his master's; he activated the airlock and opened the corvette's cargo hold. His master had to fly from underneath into a space only just able to accommodate his vessel, a feat no ordinary pilot would risk. But then his master was no ordinary pilot.

Hugas' real name was Maghugas NG Kamay-Palagi, but he had always been known as Hugas, or Huge-ass as spiteful people had felt was fitting to call him. His surname they had insulted even more, as it unfortunately sounded very similar to the Gumai-Kanadi berries that were used as an aphrodisiac on Telrahvin, so he had changed it, or shortened it, to Kamagi. His first name, however, was not so easily changed, since that's what he was used to responding to. Force knew, he'd tried, but it had never worked.

Hugas Kamagi had worked as a chef on starships since his teenage years; through two wars he had never so much as pointed a blaster at the enemy, despite having done the military training. After training, though, he had never walked more than a few hundred meters in a day, from his cabin to the mess and back again. That, combined with being surrounded constantly by food and being genetically predisposed to put on weight, had left him with a physique that did not allow him to move any more than the few hundred meters a day. With his copious weight and unhealthy appearance, he had made few friends, which became fewer and fewer as the years slowly rolled by and he grew larger and larger, becoming ever more withdrawn.

Then four years ago, while his vessel was patrolling the very borders of the outer rim, a strange Jedi had landed his craft on his vessel for re-fuelling. He had stopped off at the mess for a meal, Hugas had taken special care with it, terrified that the 'Jedi' might turn out to be a Sith. He had scarcely taken his eyes off Hugas the entire time he had been eating, terrifying the large man. Afterwards he had taken him aside, and spoken to him. Then he had left, to whatever strange place he came from. But his words had stayed with Hugas. "You have great potential in the Force, you could be a Jedi."

So, at the age of twenty-nine, he had quit his job, taken his life-savings and gone on a series of exercise courses and diets, more than halving his nearly 300-kilogram bulk in just over three years. Finally, less than a year ago, the strange Jedi had returned from wherever he had been and made good of his promise, tracking Hugas down and making him his padawan learner, his apprentice.

Hugas had worked even harder since then, training in the ways of the Jedi under his master. He had proven to be a poor study with the lightsaber, struggling to build hand-eye coordination, which he had seldom used before, although he did have enough strength to batter a weaker opponent into submission. He did have great potential in the Force, and his master was training him to use it as a weapon. He had studied whatever materials his master had brought, which hadn't been much, but according to him being a Jedi was a choice, not an assignment. Hugas had been working hard to lose his last fifty extra kilograms; so far he had only managed to shed twenty. Being cooped up in the corvette certainly hadn't helped.

His master joined him in the cockpit soon after the cargo hold had been closed and the airlock deactivated. "May I join you," he asked, with a slight smile.

Hugas grinned and got up, moving to the co-pilot's seat, letting his master take the pilot's seat. It had taken a while for him to get over his initial awe of the man, the months that they had been together had done much to dispel that feeling, but not entirely. "Did he come?" he asked.

"He came," said his master softly. "But the news could have been better. We may have an enemy on our hands just as dangerous as Jezebel. Also, Bastila's become the grandmaster."

"Bastila!" Hugas exclaimed, he'd never met her but his master had talked about her enough to make him feel like he had. "How did that happen?"

"Apparently the council was divided between the ex-Sith leaders and the old council members, with the new Jedi members divided between them. Bastila was chosen as one who held no alliance to either camp, while still being an experienced Jedi."

"The last thing we need right now is a divided council."

"I know," his master sighed, "but there is little we can do, with our current predicament. How's your training been going?"

"Well, I've lost another two kilos, and I think I've mastered form two finally."

"I'll be the judge of that," muttered his master, peering into space. "Any word on Jezebel?"

Hugas quickly checked the logs; "I received a report of her going to Dantooine just after you left, not much damage except one dead Cathar Jedi, and a few civilians."

"It was Juhani, I got the report," his master sighed again and leaned back on his seat. "I knew her Hugas, she helped me overcome the dark side, just as I had helped her." He sat forward with his head down, in attitude of prayer.

"And yesterday I got a report of the exile going to Kashyyk, but she's left already," continued Hugas. He was used to his master having nostalgic moments when he heard the names of dead Jedi. Few affected him so profoundly though.

His masters eyes suddenly popped open, "I know what she is doing," he hissed. Reaching forward he checked the logs. "Manaan…Tatooine…Dantooine, Kashyyk, she may have been to Korriban already. She's following the star maps!"

"Where will those maps take her?"

"Lehon, the home of the Rakatans," said his master through gritted teeth. "She can't go there, that planet will be vital the defense of the Republic, I can't have her making a mess of things there now."

Hugas frowned. "What makes it so special?"

"There's a massive disruption field there that I hope to use to destroy at least one of the Sith fleets." He began to start up the engines, warming up the hyperdrive. "We're going to give her something more substantial to chase."

Hugas smiled as the corvette lurched into a massive acceleration. Not many people had a master who would happily bait Jezebel the Exile.

Of course, not many people had a master by the name of Revan.

--

**Alderon, Jedi Academy**

_Breathe_ Kaya told herself, _deep breaths_. Then the paralyzing, cramping pain hit her again and she fell to her knees.

"She's going into labour," Banali cried, "somebody get a doctor!" sending Jedi apprentices scurrying in all directions.

Kaya was trying to use meditation to slow the birthing process and dull the pain, blotting out the rest of the world she managed to successfully reach a trance state. But the incredible cramps were still wracking her. In an effort to subdue all the discomfort she pulled herself deeper into meditation than she had ever been before.

Kaya found herself in a strange, black world, intersected with white lines, which converged with each other at places and each split off more times the further away they went from her, carrying on further than she could see. This place was miraculously free of all pain; she felt nothing. All around her lines began; reaching out she touched the one nearest to her face.

Suddenly she saw images flash in fast forward past her eyes, some of them slowing enough to be discernable, most of them just flashing by fast enough to leave an impression of what was generally happening.

Marka; playing with their daughter; them happy together. Suddenly assassins bursting in on them, Marka and her fighting them desperately…

Kaya released her hold on the vision in shock, but intrigued now she moved to the largest branch and touched it.

Silent assailants ripping at the fabric of society. Key Republic figures vanishing and turning up dead, terror gripping the masses. Marka trying unsuccessfully to combat this new threat, while making sure the Jedi training camps were well hidden on backwater planets. Revan being forced out of hiding by an unsuccessful attack, and returning to Bastila, later having another child with her. Jezebel catching up with him; Bastila sacrificing herself to allow him to escape. Marka trying to stop her, and being badly injured. Revan caught finally and murdered by her. Marka assassinated by Korgul while in medical. The Jedi order divided between those who followed the old ways of seclusion and serenity, and the ones who drew a balance. The hidden Sith empire invading ahead of schedule. HER having a son, who would never meet his father. The weakened and dispirited Republic putting up little more than a token resistance against their invaders. The divided Jedi order being crushed by the voracious Sith. Everybody dying, all HER friends, Ramon, Mical, Brianna, Lorn, Dustil, Banali, Carth, Laman, Kaah, everyone. Only HER left. The Republic surrendering unconditionally to the Dark Lord. HER going into deep into hiding with both of her children, and Revan and Bastila's two children, training them to one day make a stand, and put an end to the Sith Lordship over the Galaxy. HER dying of a broken heart, nearly two decades later, after being sickly for years, never knowing if the four children would ever be successful.

The vision finally faded, it had been growing fainter and fainter since Marka died in her vision. Kaya was shocked, Marka, dead. That could not be possible. For a few instants she became aware of the real world again, she was in the medical lab on a bed now. She experienced a moment of relief, noticing that the doctor had arrived. Then the pain hit her again, and she went instinctively back into the deep level of meditation she had been in before.

Back in the strange world, she looked at it again with new eyes. The paths seemed to be all the possible futures, branching out as people's choices affected them. But there would be far more possibilities if everybody's choices were taken into account, these paths were only branching out into a few hundred. Perhaps only her choices were being taken into account, while everybody else's were already predetermined. The main path the vision followed branched out as the possibilities increased; she followed one of the larger breakaways. Hopefully in this one Marka did not die.

_This time Revan did not return to Bastila, Jezebel got it into her head that Marka was Revan, and hunted him down. __HER dying, __trying to defend him_.

At that point the vision faded immediately, Kaya supposed that if she died in a possible future that she couldn't see any further on it. Moving back a bit she continued on that path, but off a different side branch.

The possible future continued with HER not getting in Jezebel's way, and Marka being murdered by Jezebel. Revan trying to exact vengeance, and only just escaping with his life. Korgul and Jezebel forming an alliance, hunting Revan down like a dog, before assassinating nearly every single Jedi, and crushing all large bastions of military might in the Republic. The Republic folding in even before the Sith invasion. Bastila and HER being among some of the last Jedi hunted down and exterminated, just after the invasion.

Again the vision faded immediately after her death. Kaya once again nearly broke her meditation, but returned quickly as the pain struck again.

It occurred to her that in every future, Marka and Revan were being killed, and the Republic being crushed quickly. It made sense though, they were greatest hope the Republic had, and without them the Republic would have no way of combating the power of the Sith Masters. Korgul and Jezebel seemed to be the perpetrators of this atrocity. Kaya knew a little about Jezebel, her reputation preceded her. Korgul she had once heard Marka refer to as the 'left hand of the Dark Lord'. That seemed to suggest that he was an assassin, since by Sith tradition the left hand was the dagger hand. It was terrifying how easily those two seemed to be able to kill the two most powerful Jedi in the history of the order. Kaya resolved to find a future where the Marka and Revan lived. Apart from the fact that the Republic needed them, she couldn't bear the thought of living in a future without Marka. And even though she had her differences with Bastila, she wouldn't wish the death of her husband on the other woman. Strange that it was just the four of them that seemed to matter in the visions, while all others on their side were merely incidental.

_Different sequences of events, different events, but the end result the same. Marka dead, Revan dead, and this time Bastila as well; with HER following soon after._

_This time Revan was captured, while Marka was killed. When Kaya next saw him, he was the devoted new apprentice of the Dark Lord, by which time the Republic of course had been crushed._

_This vision followed the s__ame__ pattern __as last scenario, only this time Revan was killed while Marka was captured to later become the Dark Lord's apprentice. Kaya followed this path and its divisions for quite a while, because in it she had again gone into hiding with her children and Revan and Bastila's, this time Banali was with __her__. Marka though, in none of the possibilities would turn from the dark side again, despite all her efforts in every future. There appeared to be something holding him there, he didn't even appear to have a free will. He did however, in almost every one, hunt HER down and take the children to be trained as Sith, before killing her and Banali with chilling ease._

Kaya came into reality again just as her water broke. People were talking all around her, some excited, some nervous, a few terrified. But through all the familiar and unfamiliar faces, there was one that she wanted to see, and didn't. Marka, where was he? Kaya now had a new incentive to go back into her deep meditation, apart from blocking her pain it might just be vital for the survival of the Republic.

Kaya followed every path that she thought might hold promise, but none turned out well for the Republic. She only found one where she and Marka lived, where the two of them went into hiding immediately after the birth. They would live out their lives as vagabonds, and be all but forgotten by a galaxy now dominated by the Sith. But Kaya was a Jedi; she could not abandon the Republic to their tender mercies.

She became aware that she was no longer in labour, but actually giving birth. She was now frantic, she did not know if she would ever be able to reach this level of deep meditation again to walk the possible futures. She had to find one that would allow the Republic to survive. In desperation, she turned to the narrowest thread, the least possible future that could happen.

This time, the sequence of events was very different, but Kaya was shocked at what she would be required to do to make the future possible. She couldn't possibly do that! She couldn't manipulate them in such a way; she couldn't drive him to do that! But she did not draw away, for the more she followed it, the more she realized that far more things were going right for the Republic. Marka, Revan and the Republic might have a small chance.

Before she could follow the vision further though, she felt herself being forcibly extracted from it. As she came back into the real world, she was aware of the infant being pulled out of her. The cord was cut, and the baby gave a huge wail as it was forced to breathe for the first time by a slap on the bottom. Somebody said that she had her mother's beauty, but in truth she was ugly as only an infant can be. Someone else responded by saying that she had her father's lungs, prompting a laugh.

"Congratulation's, you have a beautiful baby girl," said the doctor. "Have you thought of a name?"

"Belaya," Kaya murmured, both Marka and she had agreed immediately on that choice of name. It was more than fitting. Without her baby's namesake none of them would be alive now. "But, but…" she stammered, realizing that she had not followed the vision of promise to the end, she did not know she could dare hope for victory, or if it was just a longer road to eventual defeat. Now she could not even find the path to the deep meditation she had reached before.

Then she fainted.

--

**Coruscant, the Jedi temple**

In a round chamber at the top of the Jedi temple, the council was assembling for a meeting. There were twelve seats arranged around the room at equal intervals, in theory it was supposed to show that it was a council of equals. The five council member; the only ones currently on Coruscant; filed into their spaces, while in six of the empty seats blue holo-images of other council members appeared, until only one seat remained empty. In times not long past, such a full council meeting would not have been possible, with so many members off-world. But now, with a minor adjustment to already existing technology, it was possible to project the holo-image of a council member onto their relevant seat; while wherever they were they could sit in front of the images of the entire council, and interact as though they actually were there. Marka's image looked a bit strange, but that was because he was being projected from the cockpit of a moving fighter.

This Jedi council was possibly the youngest in the history of the order, with only three of its previous members surviving, and only Vandar had been in the council for any lengthy period. Few of these new council members were afraid of change, most were working hard to try and institute it. The three remaining council members were: Master Astin Lamar, the younger brother of the late Master Vrook, and now the second in the Jedi council; Master Vandar Tokare, the venerable little Jedi master who had been in the order longer than most could trace back their ancestors; and Master Yarin Bleur, an Ithorian who had just been raised before the disbanding of the Jedi order.

There were four from the Sedan Academy, although only two were ex-Sith. Marka had become a member of the council naturally; he had too much influence not to, and now served as the council's battle master. Kaya, for her part in turning the Sith. Laman O'del had been raised for the same reason; and finally Ramon Naj, mainly for his level of influence among the five hundred ex-Sith, who were currently the only Jedi fully combat trained to the standard of the true Sith. The last five council members were Mical Aurain and Kaah Ohtok, raised for their actions during the Pandema raid; Yuthura Ban, to represent the Sith under Revan and Malak returning to the order; Bastila Shan, who was now the head of the Jedi council, the grandmaster; and finally Tathleen, a soft-spoken Kiffar who was veteran of the Sith war and now served as the keeper of the chronicles.

"Is the Council present?" intoned Bastila Shan.

"All save one," Astin Lamar replied, he sat on the right hand side of Bastila.

"Who?"

"Master Cabanic."

"I'm here," said Marka's blue image mildly.

"Master _Kaya_ Cabanic," said Astin impatiently, then added. "She is neglecting her duties."

Marka stiffened angrily, that was not called for. "She's just given birth," he said indignantly. "Surely you can understand that she needs rest right now?" He would be with her if he could, but his duties had forced him to put off going to her side. He was racing to get to her now though.

"I _understand_ that a Jedi should not even be married," spat Astin "Let alone…"

"The council moves to condone Master Kaya's absence," said Bastila sharply, cutting Astin off. "All those in favour?"

There was a string of seven 'Aye's. "Majority, motion passed," she continued, ignoring Astin's livid expression. "Is there anything else anybody wants to bring up before we move onto our constant problem of preparing for the Sith?"

"Yes," said Marka. "In response to Master Astin's statement, I would make a call that Jedi marriages be condoned once more."

"Jedi don't marry," Astin blustered, "We must be devoid of possessions and attachments, so as not to fall to the dark side. That is impossible to uphold in a marriage relationship."

"And yet, four in this very council are already married," said Kaah Ohtok.

"That does not mean that we should allow them, it should not be of the Jedi," said Vandar, looking steadily at Kaah, who lowered his eyes. Plainly he had too much respect for the veteran master to openly oppose him.

Mical though apparently had no such inhibitions, "Not long ago, Jedi marriages were allowed, in special circumstances. That was in your time even, Vandar. It never led to the dark side any more than anything else, what has led to the dark side has been suppressed emotions. I believe marriage should be allowed again, and embraced by the Jedi order with no reservations."

"And from a legislative point of view, there are already far too many married Jedi for us not to allow more marriages," Bastila pointed out, "The order is far too fragile at the moment to ostracize those already married. We can't turn Force sensitives away on the basis of their marital status, there are too few already who are willing to be trained. To turn a blind eye to those already married would invite all sorts of trouble, because none would have any respect for any of the other laws."

"Sith don't marry, it leads to too many positive and productive feelings," said Marka, "Besides which, I think marriages would actually be beneficial to a Jedi's walk in the light, and certainly for the orders numbers." He went on to explain how the Sith in the empire kept a track of the bloodlines, because generally Sith would beget Sith, and strength in the Force followed families. Marka was actually exceptional in that his father hadn't been particularly powerful, while he was. He supposed he could have inherited it from his mother, who he had never known, but he had never heard of her being particularly powerful either.

"You are biased, being married," Astin muttered audibly at his argument.

"And you aren't, being un-married?" Kaah shot back.

The debate continued for another half hour, but Astin and Vandar had little ground to stand on. Predictably, the three married council members present – Kaah, Marka and Bastila – stood strongly against them. When it finally came down to a vote, only the three old council members voted against.

"Motion passed," said Bastila calmly, but there was a glint of triumph in her eyes. Astin was shaking with suppressed fury, and Master Vandar distinctly uneasy. Bastila moved the meeting along quickly to the constant problem of how to grow the order more, obviously worrying that someone else would make more revolutionary motions that would upset the older Jedi masters. Marka nodded silently, he agreed with her sentiment. The changes would come; they just needed to be spaced out a little so as to avoid major disruption.

--

**Telos, Military academy**

Venoak stepped through the doors of the Telosian Academy with two young knights at his back, who were carrying a midi-chlorian testing machine between them, and was greeted by a flustered receptionist. Plainly she did not meet Jedi too often, and if she had been informed of their immanent arrival she would also certainly know that he held the prestigious rank of Jedi Master. He sensed her outer layer of thoughts without meaning to; her emotions were just so strong. She quite obviously was attracted to him, but not because of his looks, or even his position, rather she was just lusting after what she couldn't have.

Venoak put his mild disgust out of his mind as they walked into the auditorium, where students were beginning to file in. The Jedi Master opened himself up fully to the Force, allowing all their collective emotions and thoughts to wash over him. He also searched deeper, discerning if they were possibly sensitive to the Force. As more and more students filed in, he wrote down the names of those possibly Force sensitive. It wasn't hard to discern someone's name; it was always on the borders of their subconscious.

Venoak had always been extremely talented in telepathy, a talent that had put him at a distinct disadvantage as a Sith. He simply had not been able to constantly bear the last thoughts of anyone dying, especially one he had killed. While all Force-sensitives could skim thoughts and emotions off others, they generally had to train to be able to do it, and had to concentrate on that person. Venoak though skimmed off their most obvious ones without even meaning to, and if he concentrated on someone only those fully trained in resisting his art could hope to hold anything back. It was his gift, his curse. He could never shut out the constant noise of thoughts and emotions without concentrating on it; it made sleep nearly impossible. At least in the Sith empire soldiers were taught to block their minds as a matter of course, so they might live when the Sith were feeling vengeful. Here in the Republic though nobody except the trained Jedi did it, and there were so many more people! Venoak had nearly been deafened walking through the streets of Coruscant.

Finally the room was filled with students, most excited but some apprehensive at the thought of meeting Jedi. Venoak did not waste any time. He began by introducing himself and the knights, and giving a brief outline of his past. Most were shocked to hear that he had once been a Sith but, as he had predicted, this gave them in general even more of a sense of awe of him, and actually made them like him more. Strange that admitting to faults should make people like you more, Venoak knew from experience that it was because they then saw that you were imperfect, like them. After a short speech about how the Republic needed more Jedi to stand against the Sith, he invited those that wouldn't want to become Jedi under any circumstance to leave. Some did, more than fifty of them, one a Force-sensitive. After that Venoak read out his list of names of those that he wanted to stay behind for testing.

--

Orin punched the air as his name was called, and turned excitedly to Erik, his twin brother. They were both waiting now for Erik's name to be called. But it never was.

The rest of the room was dismissed, and filed out somewhat disappointed that they had not been picked. Erik though sat defiantly in his seat; he wasn't the only one. Twenty-two names had been called, there were still about thirty in the room. The Jedi master spoke again.

"Those who are still here will be tested for Force-sensitivity. Based on your level of Force-sensitivity I shall be making a decision as to whether you should be trained. If I so decide, you shall be discharged from this academy immediately and be transferred to one of the many training camps we have all over the galaxy. If I do not decide so, you shall return to your studies. But be warned, my decision is final, and once you test positive there is no backing out, you will become a Jedi. So this is your final chance to back out."

No one moved from their seats. Master Venoak started calling them up in no particular order, even the ones that he hadn't called up originally. They were simply made to put their hand on the machine, it obviously pricked them because some winced. After that the verdict was given. Some had looks of disappointment and headed slowly back to class, others gave exulted whoops as they were directed to the back of the hall. Orin noticed that while not all that Venoak had called up were necessarily getting picked, all of those who hadn't been called up initially were being sent back. He didn't say anything to Erik, but he must have noticed.

Then it was their turn. Orin tried to walk calmly down to the stage, but nearly tripped on the bottom stair. He put his hand into the machine, gritting his teeth, determined not to wince with pain. He succeeded in that at least. As he removed his hand, examining the small prick in his index finger, a read-up came on the screen. The knight who was examining it, a female Rodian, pursed her lips thoughtfully and turned to the Jedi Master. Master Venoak looked at the reading, at him, then at the reading again; plainly it was a borderline decision. Then he nodded; Orin punched the air again. He was going to become a Jedi! Wait until his parents and friends found out, they would be so proud. He would be the pride of his district; all the girls would want a piece of him.

Erik was up next; he had been waiting impatiently behind his brother. This time the Rodian Jedi did not even refer him to the Jedi Master; she simply shook her head. Orin felt a lurch in his heart that dispelled all of his previous joy. The two of them had always been together, since infancy. They looked different, their personalities where as different as blue from red. But they had been together forever, through thick and thin, good times and bad. They had gone through school together, and enrolled at the military academy together, and always been there all those times in-between. This had always been their dream since childhood, to become Jedi and defend the galaxy. They had joined the military academy as the next-best thing when that hadn't happened. By chance now it had, but only to Orrin. They were to be torn apart. He would have to live the dream for both of them.

Erik and Orin did not say anything, there were no words needed. They knew how much they meant to each other. They embraced firmly, then Erik turned and walked towards the door. As he opened it, he turned and looked back at his brother, who hadn't taken his eyes off him. Regretfully he closed the door behind him.

A single tear fell from Orin's cheek, shattering on the floor with the force of a hailstone.

--


	2. Prophecies and Decisions

Star Wars: The Dark Empire

**Star Wars: The Dark Empire**

Episode 2 - Jenesis

**Part 2 - Prophecies and Decisions**

**Alderon, Jedi Academy**

Marka jumped out of his scout almost as soon as it touched down on the landing pad, he was desperate to see how Kaya was doing.

"Hey, am I supposed to park this thing?" Lydale called from the cockpit.

Lydale Halcyon was one of the two padawan learners that Marka had taken up. He was a dark-skinned half-Miraluka who had made a name for himself on the swoop track, a big name. He had won the Coruscant open three years in a row, only the second to achieve that distinction so far, as well as winning countless other races on other planets. Most sentients in the core worlds knew his name, even those who did not follow swoop racing. Some of that fame had gone to his head, and Marka had had his work cut out for him slowly deflating it, which hadn't proven easy sinceeverybody in the galaxy seemed to know him on sight. Lydale had proven a good padawan otherwise. He was very powerful in the Force, so powerful in fact that he mastered all his basic classes when he had joined the Jedi in just over a week, which was when he had caught Marka's attention. With his mixed human and Miralukan blood, he had eyes, but they were blind. So in Miralukan style he kept them covered; either with fashionable dark glasses or, like today, with a coloured band.

Marka slowed down and turned to Lydale, while still following his original direction; nodded, and pointed to the nearby hangar. He then turned back, and increased his pace.

He was met at the entrance to the academy, an abandoned arena the Jedi had annexed for their training, by Laman O'del. Laman was a grizzled pale man in his mid-fifties. He had, not too long ago, been the Equilium, the leader of the Greys. Part of the deal when they had joined the Jedi order though had beenthat the Greys Order disband. The teachings lived on only in the hearts and minds of the few who had once been part of the order, and the ex-Sith that they had trained. Marka slowed down as soon as he realised that Laman was purposefully blocking the exit.

"She's sleeping right now, both of them are," said Laman. "They should wake in a few hours."

Marka quickly checked his bond to confirm, abashing himself slightly for not doing it before. Marka and his wife Kaya shared a bond that had developed without their knowledge during the time she had spent as his captive, back when he was Sith. "Well," he said finally, "I guess that I better inspect the academy."

"Walk with me a bit," Laman suggested. "The fresh air and exercise will be good for you after such a long trip. Besides, we haven't had a chance to catch up in a while."

Marka had to agree. Recently he had mostly been flying from star system to star system, checking on the Jedi and military recruitment programmes. Before, the Jedi order had only accepted young Force-sensitive children into their ranks. Now as a result of the desperate times, they did not have the time to train them from infancy, and would only accept adults. The acceptance age for humans and near-humans was between 16 and 49, although it could be extended a little if they had military training. For alien races it was the equivalent, according to their life spans. One of the biggest problems in recruiting was the terrible reputation that the Jedi had built over the course of the Mandalorian, Sith and Jedi civil wars, and few had the patriotism to join and be in the front line against the Sith, who they had good reason to fear.

They would have feared them a lot more if they knew how much more the _true_ Sith were capable of than the past imitations. And even if they were prepared to join, only a fraction of a fraction had enough Force sensitivity to merit Jedi training. Those not able to join the Jedi were generally recruited for the military, so the effort was not wasted.

Still, there had been enough of an influx of padawans that there were now more than three thousand in the Jedi Order, nearly enough to match the Sith for numbers. Of course, the Sith were fully trained, and would cut through such rookies like a hot knife through butter, so numbers meant little. Training and experience meant everything, and the Jedi were running out of time.

Marka was desperately trying to make sure that they were all ready when the invasion came, and that could not be long now. They set up training camps on dozens of worlds; where small amounts of experienced Jedi, mainly ex-Sith, would train literally hundreds of students. The problem now was that there weren't enough experienced Jedi to train the initiates and padawans. Even out of the five hundred ex-Sith not all were fully trained, and there were precious few Jedi left from the old order.

The Order had been blessed recently, though, with an influx of Dark Jedi and Sith who had served under Malak and were now returning to the Jedi. They were mostly fully trained at least, although not nearly to the true Sith's standards. Marka had spent the last few months travelling between the various academies, making sure that they were up to scratch and that all learners and trainers were progressing in their skills at a fast enough rate. So far, the only academy he had been totally satisfied with was the Taris academy. On many of the academies the trainers forgot to keep up with their own learning in-between teaching classes, and Marka had been forced to make a lot of examples, which he did not enjoy. It was necessary though, for their own good as well as for the Jedi Order and the Republic.

All of the academies had experienced Masters in charge; the larger ones had council members. The largest of these academies was the massive one on Taris. There, Ramon oversaw – with the help of Kaah and a hundred and twenty trained Jedi – the training of over eight hundred. It was almost certainly the best, Ramon was an excellent trainer, better even then Marka. He had far more patience with the day-to-day routine, as well as students who took a long time to learn anything useful. The Telos academies were also very large, with six hundred there spread between four different camps, overseen by Brianna, who had originally founded the first one with Mical. Mical had, for now, been replaced by council member Yarin, with his new duties in the Defense ministry. The Alderon academy here was quite small, with only a hundred and fifty, but Marka planned to grow it. He certainly did not want to send any more to the Coruscant academy in the Jedi temple, and expose them to the obsolete and damaging teachings of Astin Lamar. His academy was the most behind in the training schedule.

Marka and Laman walked along the side of a small river, enjoying the peace, a few moments when they were free from their constant responsibilities. As they walked, they began to talk about recent events.

"Do you think that Korgul is going to come after you?" Laman asked after a while. He had obviously intended to sound natural when he had said it, but hadn't quite managed to keep the fear out of his voice.

Marka's jaw tightened. It was a question that had been bothering him for a while. "It seems probable, so I have to treat it as a certainty until I know for sure that he is not here. Certainly if I was the Dark Lord, that's who I'd send."

Few knew anything about Korgul Juglur, the Dark Lords left hand. He had appeared, apparently from nowhere; exactly a year after the attempted insurrection ten years before, in which three Sith masters and their four apprentices had taken on the Dark Lord with support, while he was alone, and still lost. No one knew what had become of the four apprentices; most suspected that three had been killed while one had become Korgul, after extensive experimentation, mutation and training of course. But that still did not ring true to Marka. Korgul had been putting down even the whisper of mutiny for nine years before Marka had left, and had taken on the most powerful of Sith masters and won, even when his foes had support.

There was absolutely no reason why he should be so powerful, it was a well-known fact that he was Force-dead. He should be no different than any of the phantoms, the elite Force-dead assassins who did his bidding. Yet he was said to be even faster and stronger than one using the deadly Yoshi Ma form. But that was impossible, as he couldn't possibly use the Force to augment his natural strength and speed. Korgul obviously hadn't heard that, he continually bested and killed traitors to the Sith who should have been far out of his league. His other rumoured ability was that he could become invisible, not using the normal stealth-field techniques that could be detected easily enough by an experienced Force-user. The combination of these abilities would make him beyond deadly if the rumours were even half-true.

"What if you're not his only target?" said Laman softly.

Marka nodded, if Korgul was to come to the Republic, most likely he would bring a few score of his Force-dead assassins, the phantoms, and they would be sent to wreak havoc and murder on the leading Republican figures. The problem was that besides warning them to post extra guards, there wasn't too much that he could do. His priority was to make sure that they weren't able to strike at the Jedi Order, because if they did he could lose hundreds, and then many more would desert. After that, they may as well surrender to the Sith without a fight.

"We'll have to hide our training camps from all eyes," he said quietly. "Even our friends. We're too vulnerable now to withstand any blows." Those were their most likely targets. He then told Laman about the decision he had come to about the others that might likely be targeted.

Laman sighed. "I came to that conclusion as well, they'll just have to fend for themselves. These training camps' whereabouts are common knowledge," he said, handing Marka a data pad, "and I've compiled a list of all the planets in systems that are remote enough to remain unseen. I had hoped that the Telos polar academies might be remote enough, but Jezebel knows about one of them at least, and we can't risk her paying a visit."

"We'll leave that one till last. Korgul and his cronies might well be here already, we'll have to move them all within a month," said Marka in a weary voice.

The two men walked along the riverbank, lost in thought. They reached a point where the river widened, creating a small marsh. With the birds and bulrushes, Marka was reminded acutely of the lakeshore on Sedan where he had proposed to Kaya, the place where his father had taken him often as a boy. As his mind drifted onto his father, suddenly he remembered something that his father had said shortly before his death, something he had put out of his mind for over a year.

"_There is an ancient Greys prophecy, the one of the hearts of the __Force. They__ will come in a time of unparalleled troubles, death, pain and loss. Even the Force itself will suffer. They will experience everything of life and the Force, and __create the longest lasting peace that the Galaxy will ever know."_

Turning back to Laman, he said, "Changing the subject entirely, my father mentioned to me a prophecy, the hearts or something…"

"The hearts of the Force," said Laman, his brown eyes hardening to rock. "It's our most cherished and secret belief, or should I say, was. Your father should not have even mentioned it to you!"

"That's all he did," said Marka, ignoring the elderman's annoyance, "but unless I'm very much mistaken, a 'time of unparalleled troubles when even the Force suffer', is now."

Laman snorted, "Maybe it is, but that's for the historians to decide."

"Just tell it to me, and I'll decide if it's important."

Laman frowned. "This secret has been kept by three Greys over the course of a millennia, never more than three. Your father was one of the keepers in his time, so too am I." he sighed, "The Greys no longer exist, so I suppose keeping it secret does not really matter. Actually the disbanding of the Greys was one of the requirements of the prophecy for its predictions to come to pass."

Marka's eyebrows climbed nearly to his hairline, he was definitely interested now. "So exactly what does this prophecy entail?"

"Most of it was lost over the course of centuries of purges, only a few fragments remain," Laman explained, "We know that it was very detailed, but the little that remains gives us little more than a shadow of an understanding. The prophecy would only come to fruition when the Greys disbanded peacefully, to join what the prophecy calls 'the guardians of peace and justice', which can only mean the Jedi. The Hearts are meant to stand together against the darkness for the sake of the 'bastion of freedom', which most agree probably means the Republic. But much of what we know does not seem to make sense, too little of it remains."

"Who made this prophecy?" said Marka.

"Its not just one," said Laman. "It's a whole collection. It was made by a man who lived during the great struggle." Laman was referring to the hundred years of strife that had covered the Empire after Naga Sadow's death, before the emergence of Darth Messiah nine hundred years before. "His name has been lost, so we just call him 'the enlightened one' or 'the great teller'. He was the one who founded our Order."

"Surely you must have studied them when they were first made, and drawn up your findings?" said Marka, exasperated.

"We did," said Laman, his face pained. "We made scores of copies. Like I said, there were only ever three who knew the secret, the Equilium and two others. But I cannot stress enough how much damage we took over the years from the Dark Lords' purges, and twice all three keepers were killed, without having passed on the secret. Once, only a scribbled note saved the secret. And whenever the enemy found parts and copies of the prophecies, they destroyed them. We lost nearly the entire prophecy many times, only a fragment of a fragment now remains, much of it second-hand; third-hand or more. We came to the conclusion hundreds of years ago that the Dark Lord somehow knew about our prophecy and was doing his best to rid the universe of it, for it was predicting the ones who would stand against him."

"That would explain a lot," said Marka, remembering how hated and even feared the Greys had been in the Empire by the Sith. Even their name had been taboo. "Anything else you can tell me, any specifics?"

"There seem to be four hearts of the Force, most likely Force adepts, but we cannot be certain. They are referred to as the Protector, Swordsman, Prodigal and Prophet. Each of them is vital to victory, in a specific way. We have a few fragments telling of things that these sentients will do, for instance the Prodigal is to stand against the _Phantom Master_, and know no fear. But he will die unless the _One of Loss _comes, with mercy at hand. The Protector will have a gift, and will teach it to others. The Swordsman is to face the _Consumed One_, but he cannot win even with the help of a hundred. The Prophet will have to compromise his love and soul for the sake of the sakeof the 'bastion of freedom'…"

"Wait," said Marka suddenly, his head spinning."What does this mean?"

"The prophecies do not say," said Laman patiently, "and if they did, that part has been lost. We're fairly certain that the 'One of Loss,' the 'Phantom Master' and the 'Consumed One' are sentients, and significant ones, but not one of the Hearts. As to the rest, I have no idea."

"The 'Phantom Master' could be Korgul," said Marka, thinking hard. "He leads the phantoms, and he is recognized as having a rank equal or superior to the Sith Masters. But I haven't a clue as to the others. So, you think that the Hearts are coming?"

"I believe that the hearts are already here."

Marka had the mad desire to laugh at Laman's bold statement, but he had found during the time that they had spent together that the other man had an uncanny habit of nearly always being right. "Any ideas who they are?" he managed finally.

"Some," said Laman cautiously. "I'm not entirely sure. But I am sure that you're one of them, Marka."

Marka stopped walking with a start. "ME!" he exclaimed."Why?"

"Simply because you've had too great an impact on recent events not to be," said Laman, grinning slightly. "In fact, I would go so far as to say that you are the Swordsman referred to in the prophecies. There are clues pointing towards it."

"Explain," said Marka coldly, not quite sure if he liked what he was hearing.

"Well, the swordsman is meant to be incredibly talented with the blades, suggesting more than one, and have 'feet of iron'." Laman took a conspicuous glance at Marka's double-bladed lightsaber and trousers, which concealed his grafted Mandalorian iron feet and ankles, before continuing. "He is also supposed to be 'marked by terror', but will never submit to it."

Marka's left cheek twitched slightly as he digested the information, the movement made his scars itch. Then he remembered that Terantateks were often known as terror-beasts. That was enough truth that he couldn't just dismiss the prophecy as superstitious nonsense. It sounded as though he would likely be killed by the 'consumed one', whoever that was; if the prophecy was true. The knowledge was not pleasant, nor particularly helpful, for he had no idea who that could be. "What are the signs that give away the other Hearts of the Force?"

"The Protector will have given up everything of his soul for the guardians, only to have regained it upon touching the darkness."

"So the Protector is a Sith?" said Marka.

"I did not say that," said Laman indignantly. "Just that he will touch the darkness. There are some fragments that seem to indicate a choice for the Protector, between two of the other Hearts. But I have no idea what that has to do with."

"So it's definitely a man?"

"No, by the way that the prophecies are written, all except the Swordsman could just as easily be women."

Marka nodded, "And the other two?"

"The Prodigal is meant to be the greatest among them, quite possibly the leader. But I can't tell you much else about him, and all we know to identify the Prophet is that he will have mystic dreams."

"There you go with the 'he,' part again," said Marka snidely.

Laman shrugged, "Sorry, its just been a long-time assumption of the Greys that the Hearts would all be male, its because of a particularly obscure fragment that states that the 'brothers of rising light' would stand against the 'Father of all Darkness', which probably means the Dark Lord."

"Father of all Darkness," echoed Marka wonderingly.

"Remember, that most of what we have are interpretations of interpretations, and we have no way of knowing which are original, and how many times each has been handed down. The most continuous piece we have is an old lullaby based on these prophecies, created when we had full access to them. It's obscure, not very good, and we have no way of knowing how much artistic license they used. But it could be our most reliable remaining clue. It goes like this…"

Laman began to sing, and after a few moments Marka joined in. He knew the song well, his father Harn had sung it to him countless times during his infancy. He was suddenly amazed that he hadn't remembered it during his conversation with Laman.

_Darkness approaches, do not dismay_

_Hold fast, stay your course_

_Stand the light, turn and fight_

_Twin twin Hearts of the Force_

_Protector, battle winner_

_Prodigal, renamed thrice_

_Swordsman, feet of iron_

_Prophet, of great sacrifice_

_Brothers, Sisters, stand_

_Love to bind you together_

_Four, three, then two_

_One path to change fate forever_

_Stand brave, stay strong_

_More than they bargained for_

_Give all, for if you fall_

_Evil shall reign, forevermore_

--

**Telos polar region, Jedi academy**

Orrin shivered, even though they were now inside the air was still distinctly chilly. At least they were out of the snowstorm that had nearly blown their transport off course, and made them nearly an hour late in arriving. Orrin and the rest of the ex-Military academy students were escorted deeper down inside the compound by one of the students, taking an elevator that seemed to go down forever, and reached a doorway that opened out into a massive hall that seemed to go up and up forever. It had obviously been built for some purpose other than the academy that was now here; it was far larger than their needs. On the ground groups of Jedi were being instructed in classes of twenty or more.

They were greeted there by an Ithorian and a white-haired young woman that Orrin recognized as a Echani. Despite her youth, the way she carried herself left no doubt that she was one of the senior most Jedi.

"My name is Master Brianna Kae, and this is Master Yarin Bleur." She spoke crisply, in a cool manner that, together with her hair and complexion, made Orrin think of the weather outside. "We are the masters in charge of this academy. Welcome to the Jedi Order, and the Telos academy. Here you will be trained, and hopefully imparted with the necessary skills to survive in combat. I see that you have received both basic and advanced military training." Those closest to her made noises of assent, she nodded. "That will stand you in good stead, but far more will be needed. Give your names to Master Yarin here and we'll place you in a class."

They filed up neatly in front of the Ithorian Jedi master and started giving their names, he tapped them into his datapad. The second to give his name was Gerald Frogly, there was a muted giggle from all those behind. The young man in question blushed and shuffled his feet. Orrin smiled, he had heard the name before, but it still sounded just as ridiculously. _Frogly, ha, he must have had a really dim ancestor to choose that name._

Master Brianna plainly did not find it funny. Her face did not change, except for her brows furrowing slightly. "We can't have that," she said absently. Reaching into her robes she pulled out a data pad and started tapping away on it. "A Jedi cannot have a name that would be found comical," she said as she worked, "for they are to inspire respect and admiration, not laughter."

She looked up, "Your new name is Gerald Kazraol. All planetary records will be changed to reflect this." The young man in question looked bewildered, but pleased.

After their names had been taken, none of the others needed changing, the Jedi masters left them and they were escorted to their dormitories. They were dropped off in various rooms in ones and twos; Orrin and Gerald were dropped off in a room with two bunks and told to meet at the doorway by the main hall in one hour. Jedi robes were already laid out for them and their small amount of luggage was waiting.

"I wonder who else is here," said Gerald.

The room, although neat, definitely looked lived in. The two top bunks had small items of technology on the small shelf beside them, data clips, a broken blaster and the like. One even had a few small crystals in a corner. There were also spare robes and other clothes hanging in two of the cupboards, and lightsaber casings and parts lying on the small table in the centre of the room.

"I dunno," said Orrin, and remembered that he had never really talked to Gerald before even though they'd been at the academy. If they were to be roommates they may as well be friends. He extended a hand, "Orrin Ithker."

The other took it immediately, "Gerald Fr…Kazraol," he stumbled at his new surname.

Orrin smiled, and started to unpack. "So, whereabouts are you from?"

--

**Coruscant, the Senate**

"I'm glad you're here with me today, Mical," said Forn Dodonna.

The Jedi Master gave a brief inclination of his head, "It is my pleasure, Defence Minister."

In actual fact he would much rather be on Telos with Brianna. He missed supervising the training, but mostly he missed her. He wondered if she thought of him as often as he thought of her. But the Jedi needed to give a show of support to the Defence Ministry as well as the Chancellor at this critical time, and Mical was the only council member with a fair inclination of Republic politics besides Master Astin, who was with the Chancellor.

It had raised many eyebrows to have so many Jedi Masters in the council at one time, in such obviously prominent positions, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Between Astin and Mical, they manipulated the council into doing more than they would have done normally in decades, the mere presence of such powerful Force-sensitives was often enough to push events their way. But it hadn't been without hiccups. For some reason Chancellor Agripalwas opposing them at every turn, slowing down every proposition they put forward. And he had nearly a quarter of the senate under his thumb.

Today's proposition would nearly treble the amount of credits allocated to the defence of the Republic, increasing taxes dramatically over all worlds. It had nearly been vetoed in the beginning, and Dodonna and Mical had been forced to draw the senate's attention to what had happened to worlds hit by the Sith before. There were a few long-lived members of the council who still remembered the terrible day when Exar Kun had come to the senate and taken over the mind of the chancellor, forcing him to say that the Republic was a relic and stagnant, before leaving him as a mindless, dribbling wreck.

The debate had taken three days so far, and now the votes were finally being tallied. Fortunately for them, in this type of vote (when the security of the Republic was at stake) only a simple majority was needed, they could never have got the two-thirds generally needed. The tallies were all electronic, and appeared on the chancellors monitor as soon as everyone had voted. As the tallies came up on his monitor, Chancellor Agripal raised his hands for silence.

"The votes are as follows" he said, his voice magnified many times over, booming in the massive chamber. In the distance the twitter of interpreters could be heard. "Forty-nine percent in agreement," Mical was shocked, that was not enough, "three percent abstain, and forty-eight percent in disagreement. Which means, since this is a matter of the Republics security, that this motion is now passed." The chancellor glared at Dodonna, and added softly, "Extra taxes for everyone."

Pandemonium ensued with senators cheering and booing loudly, arguing with each other from their different boxes, even some fights breaking out. Mical sat down, relieved. A portion of that money would go to the Jedi Order, which had been battling for funds recently with so many more padawans to feed, clothe and equip. They would especially need the money now that they were relocating a lot of their academies to different worlds. Most of it though would go towards the training of new conscript armies, and building spaceships. For the first time in millennia, a percentage conscription was being exacted from each of the Republic planets, simply because the volunteer armies were not going to be big enough. That had caused no end of outrage in the senate as well as on every affected world.

Mical got up to leave, saying his goodbyes to Dodonna and the other members of the defence ministry. It was highly unlikely that anything more would be discussed in the senate today, so he would not be missed. He had other duties to attend to, not the least of which was giving Brianna a call, he hadn't in the last two days. And last time she had admitted to 'really missing' him. He needed to fight her again, to see if her feelings towards him had changed. That was a bit difficult though, considering he was on Coruscant and she was on Telos.

Thinking about Brianna, Mical automatically opened himself up fully to the Force, and opened his mind to the thoughts and emotions. He wouldn't consciously do it in the council chambers, there were too many raging emotions and devious thoughts to discern anything but a roaring babble. This time, though, Mical could feel something distinct, he turned around to face it; shocked. Despite the emotional babble being loud enough to deafen, there was a massive, seething anger coming from the centre of the senate, where only the Chancellors' box stood. This wasn't just any anger, this was definitely coming from one who was trained in the Force, and walked the dark path. Whoever it was, they were incredibly powerful, the only Jedi Mical knew with more power than that was Master Marka, although Masters Bastila and Ramon were about the same.

Mical scanned the box, who could it be? Council Member Astin Lamar was sitting with a contented smile on his face. Could it be him, a member of the Jedi council? Could they have not sensed a Sith in their ranks? But that didn't make any sense, why would he push for the result, and then be angry at it? Chancellor Agripal was still standing, a livid expression on his face. It certainly looked like it was him, and he had been the one opposing the proposed bill the most, but looks could be deceiving. The consequences if the Chancellor was a Sith Lord would be devastating, perhaps even more so than if it were Astin. The only other one in the box was the Chancellor's aide, who stood passively waiting until he was needed. Mical didn't even know his name. It could be him as well.

The anger was suddenly cut off; Mical knew enough of the Force to know that the other was now shielding his emotions and ability, which had obviously been brought to the forefront by the vote going the way they did not intend. It was like a sluice gate being rammed in the way of Mical's senses, even without the insane babbling racket from all the senators he never would have been able to break through it. Whoever it was, they were in a position where they could do incredible damage to the Republic, and Mical doubted he would be able to take them on, even if he did know who it was. One thing was certain, there was a Sith infiltrator in the Chancellors' box.

He needed help. He needed someone who was strong enough to defeat this Sith, someone whose loyalties were without question and had no ties to Astin Lamar, because he could quite possibly be one of them. In Revan's continued absence, there was only one possibility.

--

**Taris, Jedi academy**

"Class, I hope you can remember your opening stances, because today I will be showing you the first seven forms. Who can tell me the name of the first form?"

"Shii-cho, master," said one of the initiates, an Aqualish if Ramon had got his species right. He never could be entirely sure. Fortunately this one spoke basic.

It had been quite disconcerting for Ramon in the beginning, coming from Sith space where, besides humans, there were only Arnon slaves, and of course a few humans with noticeable Sith blood. The Sith species had died out ages ago, but some of the hybrids had lived on and their descendants still lived in the Sith empire. The most prominent of these was Lord Delhano Sorge, the apprentice to the Dark Lord; he also had the most noticeable features with his blood-red skin.

"But aren't there only seven forms?" piped in a young human in her mid-teens. She must have only just made the age requirement, with the order only taking adults now.

"The Jedi order used to only recognize seven forms, but the true Sith practice twelve," Ramon told her "if we are to have any chance against them, we must train the way they do, harder than they do."

He stepped out into the demarcated dueling area, a light metal-alloy short staff in his hand. Kaah joined him from the other side, armed with the same weapon. The short staffs were a substitute for lightsabers in dueling, they greatly reduced the chances for injury while allowing the combatants to be far more aggressive in mock-combat than using lightsabers would allow.

Kaah advanced, aiming a vertical blow at him, which he blocked in a classic fashion; creating an X. Ramon would have preferred to use a longer staff, imitating a double-bladed lightsaber, Kaah probably as well. But for the purposes of the demonstration a single-blade worked better, it was what the initiates would be using initially, regardless whether they progressed later or not. Kaah blocked Ramon's attack in a similar fashion. They continued for another minute before Ramon broke away and lowered his blade, Kaah following suit.

"Shii-cho," said Kaah, "basic defense, basic attack, nothing fancy. This is the first form anybody studying the lightsaber learns, it is the first you will learn. But it is not strong enough to stand against any of the other forms, so you would be ill advised to go into battle against a Sith with it."

"It is a study in basic swordplay," added Ramon, "and Master Kaah is right, never use it against a Sith. It can work to stop blaster fire, but there are other forms better suited for it."

They demonstrated forms II and III together since, by its defensive nature, form III Soresu would not work well in demonstration without an aggressive form to test it. Kaah used Makashi, while Ramon had to use Soresu to defend, no easy task. It was his least favourite form, one he had employed only once or twice in combat situations. He was relieved when the demonstration was over, even though Kaah hadn't come close to breaking his perfect defense.

"Makashi," said Kaah, "absolute control, constant offence. It's based on Echani fighting forms, and has a certain arrogance to it. This form can be very deadly to those who don't know how to face it properly."

"It is a study in precision," said Ramon. "Soresu, on the other hand, is a study in patience. It's all about constant defense, waiting for an opponent to make a mistake. This can be dangerous in lightsaber combat, extended combat is never a good idea, but this form is second to none in deflecting laser blasts; so it is imperative that you learn it."

Ramon and Kaah spread apart again, this time further than before. Kaah came in at a run, giving a broad slash at Ramon, who blocked firmly. Kaah then gave a leap to land behind him and aimed a blow at his back, which once again was blocked perfectly. Kaah kept up the offence with long, sweeping slashes, this had been his favourite form before the Sedan escape; Ramon was currently trying to get him to take up a better one. Kaah was trying a lot harder than was necessary for a simple demonstration, he was obviously trying his utmost to beat Ramon. He had been training a lot recently and seemed to be out to prove a point. But Ramon had his pride to consider, if the Twi'lek was going to come at him with the full intent of winning in a show-duel, he was going to respond in kind.

As they broke apart, Ramon said, to halt the other, "That was Ataru, a study in acrobatics. It's highly aggressive, but not as controlled as other forms. It has too many well-studied weaknesses to use effectively in combat against the Sith, but whatever form you end up using, you will probably find yourself at times using Ataru techniques, whether in jumps and rolls or sweeping strikes."

Kaah was gripping his hilt tightly opposite him, his expression one of focus and determination. This annoyed Ramon, and he resolved to teach his colleague a lesson. He was still the superior in swordplay. Form V was Ramon's specialty, and he attacked with force and aggression. Kaah met him head on, Shien was also one of his strongest forms, but despite great improvement he was still nowhere near Ramon's equal. In fifteen seconds he was struck four times, his cheeks were burning with humiliation by the end. They both knew what Kaah had been doing, and he had been caught out and beaten. Some of the padawans were snickering in the background.

"Shien, a study in strength," said Ramon. "This is perhaps the best of the basic forms. Certainly it's the most popular. It is aggressive, like Ataru, but focuses first on a strong defence; moving on to repelling attacks back at the attacker, and striking back firm and fast. Not just lasers, lightsabers as well. About the only time when this form won't work well is when your opponent is noticeably stronger than you."

Ramon smiled as he saw the shocked faces on some of the female padawans, obviously thinking that they wouldn't be able to use it against men. They would figure out soon enough that a Jedi's strength was determined by both physical ability and how much they could fortify it with the Force. Ramon had seen Sith men overpowered by the women in the Empire, making the mistake of thinking that they would never dare to challenge them strength for strength.

Kaah now seemed suitably subdued, and did not try to best Ramon again during the practice session, saving himself a further lesson in humility. They showcased Jisu next, a form that hadn't been seen in the Republic prior to the ex-Sith's arrival. It was a new form, not a particularly popular one, but useful because it filled the gaps that other forms left in the complete study of lightsaber combat. Kaah battled with it somewhat, resorting to moves from other forms. None of the padawans would have noticed, but Ramon did. He would have to train Kaah again some other times.

"Jisu," Ramon explained, "is a study in speed. It is similar to Makashi in that it focuses on stabs and short cuts rather than building force and momentum to deliver a powerful blow. It's not particularly effective in itself, but can be very effective when incorporated into another form."

"You keep speaking about 'incorporating forms,' Master," said one of the initiates. Ironically, for one who had just called him 'Master', he was at least twice Ramon's age. "What do you mean by that?" The others murmured in agreement.

Ramon nodded. "Fair question, I was going to get to it next lesson, but you may as well know now. Regardless of whether you advance to the advanced lightsaber forms, or even master every form, you will have a base form – one that you will open combat with, even if you later choose to change form, depending on the situation. I have one, so do other experienced masters like Marka, all Jedi should have."

There was a sudden babble of earnest voices. "What's yours?" "Marka's?" "Yours Master? "Master Kaah's favourite?" "Master Marka's, please."

Ramon raised his hand for silence. When they quieted, he answered, "Mine is Shien, with elements of Makashi. Marka's is classic Sokan, he denies it but I still think he utilises elements of Shien. Kaah, have you decided on your base form yet?"

"Mine used to be Ataru," Kaah replied, "but now I prefer Shien with some elements of Ataru."

"When you decide on a form, you will most likely not stay with the classic form," Ramon explained. It was interesting that Kaah had chosen Shien, like Ramon, but then he was probably best suited to it. "Everybody's different, so you will likely mix and match until you find your perfect combination. All master swordsmen have plenty of self-styled combinations, as well as a few forms they've created themselves. Remember though: it is essential to always begin a duel your best combination."

"Why not start with a weaker one, and then surprise them with a stronger one?" asked a wiry humanoid. Ramon stared at him for a moment, trying to determine his species.

"And run the risk of being killed in the first few moves? Not smart." It was Kaah who spoke. Ramon hid a smile, he had learned well.

While Ramon and Kaah were both colleagues on the Jedi council, and roughly the same age, Ramon was, by far, superior with a lightsaber and Force power. Not surprising, since he had trained in the Sith empire, often with Marka. He had even been graded in the top-fifty Sith in the empire, but only just. Kaah was his student in that field, and a very good one, but he was Kaah's student in another. For Kaah was a model Jedi, nothing like the soulless model that Jedi had been expected to aspire to before, but everything like a true Jedi, a true servant of the light should be. He wasn't perfect, he never claimed to be, but for Ramon, who had grown up around Sith; being around him was nothing short of an amazing experience. Thus they both grew in each other's presence. Ramon suspected that Bastila might have had that in mind when she'd assigned them here together.

They had spent enough time talking, and it was nearly lunch time, so Ramon asked, "Who knows what form VII is?"

"Is it Sokan?" asked a young man, his eyes shining. He was perhaps slightly younger than Ramon's twenty-four years.

Ramon nodded, realising too late that it had probably been a mistake to mention that it was Marka's favourite form. It was a well known fact that he was the most powerful Jedi, a fact that had been highly publicised a few months ago when Astin Lamar had challenged him to duel as a result of a vote in the council that hadn't gone his way.

The older Jedi had been beaten humiliatingly easily; it had all been caught on tape by some busybody with a long distance lens and had ended up on holo-net. The duel had become something of a standing joke in the Jedi order, one that shouldn't be uttered in Astin's earshot. It had served to make Marka's skill well known, and now would likely colour these initiate's decision as to what form to aspire to. The problem was that out of the first seven forms, Sokan was by far the most complicated. By all rights, it should be listed as one of the more advanced forms.

Kaah had improved noticeably in the form since the last time Ramon had faced him. They squared off with controlled attacks, classical defence and impeccable footwork, constantly trying to maneuver each other into a complicated position. To the casual observer it may have seemed like a subdued version of Ataru, but there was far more to it than that.

"Sokan is a study in positioning," said Ramon when he and Kaah had broken apart. "It's largely a mix between Soresu's defense, and some of Ataru's attack and acrobatics, but on a far more controlled level. A Sokan Master will attempt, if they cannot beat their opponent immediately, to force them into a position where they are inhibited in some way; and can be crushed without a chance of reprisal. It's a powerful form, but can require patience at times."

Ramon noticed how many more of the padawans seemed to be hanging onto his words, so he added, "I must warn, though, to train in this form you must first be proficient in both Soresu and Ataru." That brought more than a few long faces, others simply looked thoughtful, some even ambitious.

Other padawans further away were making their way towards the mess, seeing them reminded Ramon that it was time for lunch. He called the class to a halt, and said goodbye to them. It was unlikely that he would be taking them again, especially with Kaah. Junior Jedi took the initiates classes in-between their own. While Ramon and Kaah made a point of taking each new class at least once, to make sure that the new initiates knew who they were and respected them, they generally concentrated on the most advanced students, who would gain the most by being taught by them.

--

**Telos, Jedi Academy, Kaya's quarters**

She woke up feeling groggy, was that a word? Who was she, yes 'she', she was a woman, a young woman. She knew that. There was a dead weight across her, what was that? Why did her abdomen ache? Her name was short, simple. _I have just given birth!_

Suddenly it all came back to her. She was Kaya, a Jedi. A Jedi Master and on the council at that. She was in her quarters in the academy, which resided on her home planet of Alderon. She registered that she was in comfortable pyjamas as she sat up suddenly. The dead weight across her body stirred, but did not wake. She put her hand on his head and ran her fingers through his short hair. It was Marka, she knew. He had come, and must have fallen asleep waiting on her to awake. A feeling of intense warmth washed over her, it had been nearly two months since she had been in his physical presence, busy as he had been preparing the Jedi. She had forgotten what being with him felt like, how everything seemed more…real. Then she remembered the terrible visions she had seen, how in nearly every one he had been murdered. There was only one she had seen that may have had hope, she hadn't even seen it through to the end. But for that one to happen, she would have to…. No, she decided, it was unthinkable. She sighed softly and closed her eyes.

Kaya tried to meditate, determined to reach that level that she'd been at before, but she couldn't even get close. It was like her ability had never existed at all. Maybe it only manifested itself at birth? Kaya shook her head to rid herself of that ridiculous idea. But then why could she not get there again? It did not make any sense. But she was convinced that the visions were real, and now not being able to return to that place of possible futures, she would just have to act on what she already knew.

Gently, so as not to wake him, she slid her legs out from underneath Marka, and got off her bed. A spasm of pain hit her as she tried to walk, Kaya simply poured the correct manipulation of Force into the offending region, and was fully healed in less than a minute. She walked to the small attached room that had been prepared for her, and sure enough, there was the cot with her daughter Belaya in it. _Their_ daughter, she chastised herself, and felt an instant surge of affection for the infant who lay sleeping. She had expected to feel that way, but the sudden intensity of it surprised her. She sighed; she couldn't allow her child, their daughter, to grow up in a galaxy held in the tender-loving grip of the Sith.

Kaya resisted the urge to take the sleeping child into her arms, and hold her close, protect her. She glanced back at Marka, who was still asleep. Kaya hardened her heart, clenching her fists as she come to the most excruciating decision she hoped she would ever have to make. She would follow the only path that might hold hope for the Republic, and her husband. Tears slid slowly down her cheeks, she knew what she would to have to do. She knew what she would lose. Would it be worth it? It had to be. Sighing, she dried her eyes, and started to dress. She knew that she could keep what belonged to her for a week longer, maybe two, if she did something tonight. She steeled herself; it had to be done.

She finished dressing, and bent over Marka to kiss him. "Forgive me, braveheart," she whispered. "I'm doing this for us, all of us." Marka stirred as his wife subtlety manipulated the Force around his head and murmured something in his sleep.

But Kaya was already gone.


	3. Ultimate foes and form

Star Wars: The Dark Empire

Star Wars: The Dark Empire

Episode 2 - Jenesis

Part 3 - Ultimate Foes and Form

**Alderon, Jedi Academy**

Marka woke mid-morning, immediately noticing Kaya's absence. He was stiff from having slept across her bed from a sitting position the entire night, and it took a few seconds of stretching before he was able to stand straight. He was amazed that he had slept so late; he always woke at dawn no matter little sleep he got or how exhausted he was the night before. Shrugging it off he went to check on his daughter, who was sleeping. He hadn't seen her awake yet. From what he had heard though – he didn't have much experience with infants – she would likely sleep almost all the time she wasn't being fed or changed.

Content that she had no pressing needs, he wouldn't know what to do in that case anyway, he left Kaya's quarters and crossed the corridor to the trainers mess. He found his wife there, chatting to her short; blonde friend Banali, who had been stationed as a trainer there. They had already finished their breakfast. She smiled as he entered, and Marka felt his heart leap. He was grinning openly as he took a bowl and filled it with one of the cereal grain mixes popular in the Republic. Apparently one was supposed to moisten it with milk excreted from some bovine mammal. Marka, though, found it fine with just water. Still, the thought of milk made him wonder if Kaya was producing any, with the baby and all.

His two padawans were there as well; they were sitting opposite each other, halfway though breakfast and busy talking. Lydale Halcyon, the dark skinned half-Miraluka, had a red band today to cover his blind eyes. The colour didn't really suit him. Marka's newer padawan, Cora Qel'Droma, raised her hand in greeting when he saw him. He gave a polite nod back, and she beamed.

Cora was an enigma to most; she never behaved like a woman should. Sometimes she would pretend to be a little girl, in an effort to get her way, most of the time though she behaved like a street tough, and could employ language that would put them to shame. She was undoubtedly strikingly beautiful, with long silky-blonde hair; soft blue eyes and a curvaceous figure. But she was a shade taller than Marka; who was tall for a man; she was also stronger than most men. She seemed to have no interest in men and often scared them with her strange ways.

Cora was from a family that had produced many famous Jedi, giving her considerable Force-potential. She had served as a soldier during the Jedi Civil war, lying about her age when she had signed up at 15, nobody had challenged her on it on account of her size. She saw combat on a number of occasions, gained a fearsome reputation in battle during the later stages of the war, and had risen through the ranks to Captain. She was reputed to 'take no crap from nobody', and be very difficult to work under or with. It was hard to believe with all that was said about her that she wasn't yet twenty-two. During her Jedi training on Coruscant she had outstripped most of the trainers, including the senior ones, in less than a month. She'd had little regard for their authority as a result, and had caused more trouble than they had felt she was worth, despite her obvious power. Marka had heard about the problems they had been having with her on a routine inspection, and had taken her up as his second padawan mainly as a favour to them. He didn't particularly like Astin, who was in charge of that academy, but he had to feel sorry for him on that occasion. It had gotten to the point where Cora would only behave if Astin had kept a constant eye on her.

Cora initially had been nothing trouble for Marka, making her voice heard on everything, from which planets to inspect first to what they should be having for dinner. He had quickly and ruthlessly put a stop to it. A few healed broken bones and bruises later, as well as a reset broken nose complete with two black eyes, and Cora became a model padawan. Lydale had been furious, stating angrily that Marka's actions were unbecoming of a Jedi and he was acting like a Sith. He had probably been right, Marka had concluded. Still, his harsh discipline had achieved its goal. Cora now would do whatever he wanted with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, and gave him utmost respect at all times. He was probably the only Jedi whose power, strength and skill she would never be able to top, now that she realized it things had become much easier and far more peaceful. Which was vital because during Marka's inspection missions the three of them would often be cooped up together for days at a time.

Marka crossed the room with his bowl. "Tenderheart," he murmured as he sat down besides his wife, and kissed her passionately, not caring that Banali was turning politely away just across from them. That was his pet-name for her, taken up soon after she had started calling him 'Braveheart' a few months ago. Force, he had missed her. He would have continued kissing, but Kaya pulled away.

"Brush your teeth first," she said, making a face. Banali managed somehow to turn her snort of laughter into a hacking cough.

Marka smiled, and took a spoonful of his cereal. While he was munching, they started to discuss what they had been doing recently. Before they had gotten too far, some of the trainers started pulling around the holovision set, which was displaying the top news story. At the request of one of them, they put the sound up, high enough that everybody in the room could hear clearly. It also drowned out Marka, Kaya and Banali's conversation.

"Citizens of Alderon woke up this morning to these scenes of terror," it was displaying images of burning vehicles, a small craft crashed into a building, and driving through to nearly the other side; while a female voice narrated. "Local fire-fighters have been working around the clock to try and halt the damage."

The image showed blackened buildings, with flames still licking the inside walls, while teams of men and droids sprayed massive bursts of water and foaming chemicals.

Marka swallowed his mouthful of cereal. "What happened?"

"It looks like there's been an attack," said Kaya, closing her eyes and slowly turning her face away from it.

"But by who?" said Banali.

"The death toll is shocking," the report continued. "Sixty-four confirmed dead, and over a hundred as yet unaccounted for."

"That's not that much," said one of the trainers audibly. Marka did not know his name, but knew that he was one of his five hundred ex-Sith.

"For the Republic in peacetime, it's a huge amount," Cora countered from the other side of the room.

"According to eyewitnesses," the female voice from the holovision set continued as lesser images of destruction continued to play, "at each of these scenes, a single dark-cloaked figure was seen. We're also receiving reports of bodies that seem to have been purposefully beheaded, and the heads taken. A spokesperson for the…"

Standing suddenly Marka exclaimed, "It's Korgul, it has to be," and immediately regretted it. The trainers who were from the Republic thought nothing of it, but those who had originally come from the Sith empire; who in the majority; stared at him with open-mouthed horror.

Marka immediately tried to calm them, but it was too late, he knew that word of this would get out. Those who came from the Sith empire knew all about Korgul Juglur, and they would make sure that all the others did. Fear would grip the Jedi order. Fear, the Sith's greatest weapon.

--

**Coruscant, the Jedi Temple**

"Good, well done Jaimian. Can you feel it well up inside you, begging to be released?" Bastila turned to see Mical Aurain striding in, his expression grim.

"We'll continue tomorrow, good work everyone," she told her five padawan learners, "class dismissed."

"You have five now?" asked Mical as they exited.

"Jaimian just joined yesterday," said Bastila, and added proudly, "He's making astounding progress."

Bastila Oneiro, formerly Shan, was one of only three Jedi in the history of the order to be able to produce the complete version of the extremely rare technique called Battle Meditation. It was an extremely powerful ability, able to sway battles, as its name suggested. It worked by drawing all the inspiration and hope from the enemy's, while feeding it to the meditator's allies. The technique had saved the Republic from succumbing to Malak's Sith, now it was hoped that between Bastila and the five padawans she was training that they would be able to affect the coming war in a similar way. She would train more if she could, but so few had any talent at all for it, and none of the five would ever be anything like as good as she was.

"There is an emergency high council meeting in half an hour," Mical told her.

"I already know about the meeting," said Bastila. "What is it that you really came to speak to me about?" She could sense a great deal of fear about him, he wasn't even bothering to hide it. She highly doubted that it was just because of the emergency meeting, which had been called by Battlemaster Marka because of the possible emergence of some assassin called 'Korgul', following the morning's attack.

He sighed. "Am I so transparent?"

Bastila nodded with a smile. Mical frowned before explaining to her what he had felt in senate. He had her full attention by the end.

"You're sure of this?"

"Absolutely," he answered.

"Our situation worsens," she said. "We have mad Jezebel roaming the galaxy, destroying at will and whim. Korgul, I know nothing about, but Marka and his people's reaction gives me reason to fear. We're still waiting for the Empire to make its move, and now we have a Sith on the inside, in a terribly compromising position for us."

"As if it couldn't get any worse," said Mical disheartened.

"I don't understand though why it was me you chose to tell," said Bastila."By your own admission, you don't know if I'll be powerful enough to face this Sith."

"You're the only one on the council I can trust that could possibly do anything," he said desperately. "I can't talk to anyone who has any connection to Astin Lamar, and I'd rather not involve anyone who has at any point been a Sith. That leaves only Kaah, Kaya and Tathleen besides you. Kaah is on Taris with Ramon, Kaya would certainly talk to Marka, and Tathleen is not nearly powerful enough. Together, we should be able to put an end to this new threat."

Bastila gave a short laugh. "You know, at one point, I was Malak's apprentice."

"You where WHAT?" Mical was thunderstruck.

Bastila calmly explained to him how she had been forcibly placed on the Dark path, and had even attempted to lure Revan onto it as well during the final stages of the Star Forge quest. How she had finally been defeated by Revan on the Star Forge itself, her heart clenched, that's when they had finally admitted their love for each other, with no reservations. Revan had gone on to defeat Malak, while she had helped to annihilate the Dark Lord's fleet with her Battle Meditation, after that the Jedi had taken her back in gladly.

Light, how she missed Revan. It didn't help that Marka bore such a striking resemblance to him. She found herself having very confused feelings when Marka was around, not helped at all by the fact that she and his wife, Kaya, were still at odds because of their parentage.

Bastila and Kaya shared a common father, which caused no end of problems between them. Bastila had loved her father dearly, and Kaya was living proof of his indiscretion. For her part, Kaya seemed bitter that Bastila's father hadn't left her mother for Kaya's mother, and seemed to hold Bastila accountable for that. They were slowly coming to terms with each other, they had to being on the council together. But it still wasn't easy for them to act civilly to each other.

"I had little choice in joining the Sith," Bastila said, finishing her story of Malak, Revan and the Star Forge. She had blamed herself constantly for falling into darkness before, but not now. By accepting her failure she had come a long way in accepting herself, and her feelings. "But think of those from the Empire, who risked their lives to come to our aid. They had no choice; they were born into darkness. Yet they still found the light."

Mical obviously guessed what she was getting at, "You want me to inform Marka and Ramon? Haven't they got enough to deal with, with Jezebel and this 'Korgul' besides their duties?"

"Just Marka," said Bastila. "He and I have been making some plans that involve Ramon, and will put him out of the picture for a while."

Mical's eyes widened, "With Ramon gone…you're expecting Marka to seek and destroy this Sith infiltrator as well as Korgul and Jezebel?"

Bastila lowered her eyes under Mical's incredulous gaze. It was already an impossible ask without adding anything more, even for one such as Marka. If only the one who looked so much like him were here, all would be right.

Bastila turned and looked out of the windows, currently blurred with the outside rain. "Revan, where are you?"

--

**Alderon, Jedi Academy, Council chamber**

"Master Cabanic, would you be so good as to explain to those who where not once true Sith who exactly Korgul is?"

Marka clenched his jaw. Astin's statement had not been particularly provocative, but the infliction he had used on the words suggested that he saw those who had once been true Sith to be far beneath his oh-so-righteous level. Marka briefly considered punching him, but Astin wasn't truly with him, just his image being projected from light-years away. He imagined how it would look with his arm stuck through a blue holo-image. The thought made him smile, and he relaxed as he began to speak.

"It all began twenty years ago. Darth Messiah finally decided that it was time to start preparing for the invasion of the Republic, he started inciting the Mandalorians to attack the Republic, promising them great glory."

"We know this, we've been over it already," said diminutive Vandar.

"Get to the point," snarled Astin.

"Patience," said Marka coldly. "The Mandalorians clearly had little choice, if they hadn't attacked, we would have slaughtered them." Marka subconsciously had referred to himself as a Sith, and winced at his error before continuing. "At the same time, the Dark Lord also made some changes to the laws, laws he had himself made when he first took power nine-hundred years ago. Before, the seven Sith masters had only been allowed fifty retainers and one apprentice each. That law was replaced by one stating that they could have as many as they wanted, provided it was below the halfway margin of the numbers of the Dark Lord's own retainers. They were also allowed to take on a second apprentice. He then increased the amounts allowed for each of their armies and fleets."

"Weren't those laws in place to lessen the chances a revolt by one of the masters might have had of success?" asked Kaah, who seemed to remember what Marka had told them previously about the empire.

"Yes, and also because accommodating large amounts of Sith puts incredible strain on any population," said Marka, "Sith tend to do what they please, and this leads to revolutions."

"So what happened then?" prompted Kaya. While most of the council members were blue holo-images to Marka, she was with him in the flesh. The only other one truly with him was Laman. All of them were using the Alderon council chambers to meet with the rest of the council, who appeared before them in walking, talking holograms.

"With the growth in armies, fleets and numbers of Sith, inevitably some of the master's armies grew faster than others. The Dark Lord still had by far the largest force, but now if any two masters combined, they would have had as many. Ten years after this reform; three of the most powerful Sith masters, Maugrim Babbadon, Anamos Yukil and Idrus O'del, formed an alliance to overthrow Darth Messiah. Their plan was to collectively defeat him through sheer numbers, and then systematically crush the other masters one by one with their combined might. Then each would have a one-in-three chance of becoming the new Dark Lord."

"Not very good odds, even if everything went according to plan," said Yuthura Ban.

"That's the Sith for you, always backstabbing; no sense of loyalty," growled Kaah. Yuthura for some reason blushed at this.

"Their initial attack went according to plan," Marka continued, "or so it seemed. They struck hard and fast, punching a hole in the Pandemic defences, and landed their forces. The other four masters, who could have rushed to the aid of their Lord, chose rather to wait and see what would happen."

Kaah muttered "No loyalties," again

"The invading forces got ambushed by the bulk of the defenders just as they were nearly at the Black Citadel, the throne of the Dark Lord. Leaving their generals, armies and Sith retainers to take up the fight, the three Sith masters pressed on, with only their apprentices and a core group of elites to support them. They were not challenged, though, and were able to enter the Black Citadel unopposed, and made their way up to face Darth Messiah."

"So what happened then?" asked Mical, his eyes rapt. He plainly was deeply engrossed in the story, he wasn't the only one. Even master Astin appeared to be hanging on his every word.

Marka spread his hands, "No-one knows, somehow they were all defeated. But the mystery is that the Dark Lord was certainly the only one in the Citadel at that time, it seems impossible that he would be able to defeat seven of the most powerful Sith in the empire, not to mention about a score of elite Sith. Four of the Sith masters and apprentices were masters in the Yoshi Ma form, all were at least as strong as I in the Force. Whatever happened, there was a huge amount of noise from the citadel for a time, again nobody knows what happened, but rumour has it that many things were shouted by those inside and overheard by others outside. Most of what was reported is too incredible to be true, but who knows? What is known is that half an hour later, Darth Messiah appeared at the entrance to the Citadel with the unconscious bodies of the three Sith masters, and the dead of their elite retainers. Their armies gave up quickly when they found out that their leaders had been beaten, and the Sith masters were imprisoned on Dus."

Marka had faced the three masters, maddened from ten years exposure to the moon's tainted aura, during his escape six months ago.

"What exactly does this have to do with Korgul?" said Astin impatiently.

"The betrayal of the Sith Masters proved that there was a need to be able to police them, route out insurgents and make chilling examples of them before the revolts even got going. The empire was counting the costs of that revolt for years after. If it hadn't been for that revolt they would have invaded the Republic long ago."

Ramon cut in, "There's another mystery in what happened in the Black Citadel. Nobody knows what happened to the four apprentices. It was assumed that they were all killed, but their bodies were never recovered. They simply disappeared. The theory is that one of them was trained and…changed. He would, or she would if it was Lurpa, eventually become Korgul." Ramon was an ex-Sith as well, and knew nearly as much as Marka about the events surrounding Korgul.

"The names of the apprentices were Jugan Sorge, Gulnion S'reida, Lurpa Claiton, Korvem Naj." said Laman helpfully. "I am one of those who thinks that it was Korvem who became Korgul, partly because the names sound similar, but mostly because Korvem was known for having a fetish for collecting heads."

"Naj…isn't that your surname, Ramon?" said Mical inquisitively.

Ramon gritted his teeth, "He was my father."

A shocked silence hit the council chambers.

"And before you ask," said Laman after about a minute of uneasy feet-shuffling, "Idrus O'del was my cousin. Don't look so surprised, almost all of the Sith masters and apprentices come from families with great Force-potential, and most of those families are related. Jugun for example was Lord Delhano and Tinlae D'eath's son. Generally they will swap daughters to mix the strong blood around."

Marka continued with the story. "In the aftermath of the failed revolt, Darth Messiah took three of the strongest apprentices of the four remaining Sith masters, and made them masters in the place of the ones he had imprisoned. My old master was one of them." Marka's life had been turned upside-down at the time by those changes, but he did not mention it. His story there was irrelevant. "The four original masters hadn't lifted a finger to help their lord in, what would have seemed to be, his hour of need. Naturally, they initially feared reprisal, but none came."

"Then nine years ago, a year after the attempted insurrection, the four Sith masters who had stood by during the revolt started dying violent deaths, mostly at night. All were apparently the work of an assassin who used a lightsaber, as well as some sort of blade, judging by the cuts on the bodies. Every one of them had their head removed, it would turn out to be the assassin's trademark."

"Korgul," Yuthura hissed softly.

Marka nodded. "Soon only one was left, Raoul Fer'rer, brother of my late master. He became so paranoid that he wouldn't even sleep without half a dozen security droids and one of the most complex sensor arrays ever devised set up around his apartment, as well as two of his retainers by the door. He also stepped up his defences around his entire academy."

"But none of it made the slightest bit of difference," said Ramon, scowling.

"Well, it did mean that they managed to detect Korgul just before he got to Raoul," said Marka fairly. "But Korgul cut through the two Sith retainers and the security droids in seconds. Now Raoul was a Yoshi Ma master, and was well known for his deadliness with his twin-blades. He never stood a chance against Korgul, who toyed with him for short while before dispatching him with ease. By this time Raoul's retainers were coming to the scene, but Korgul took the masters head, ran out and vanished in the middle of the compound. Seconds later the first retainers arrived, none found anything despite extensive searching."

"And Sith in the Empire learn techniques that render all stealth-field generators useless," added Laman.

"It was all captured by a security camera, and every Sith in the Empire has seen it. Ever since then, even a whisper of revolt has resulted in headless Sith. Needless to say, there hasn't been much threat of that recently." Marka finished.

Silence filled the council chambers again. Bastila finally broke it.

"Well, now that we know who he is, any suggestions as to what to do about him?"

--

**Coruscant, Jedi temple, Council chambers**

The emergency meeting went on for hours. It was decided in the end to go with Laman's suggestion, and move all the Jedi academies that were well known or visible, excluding the one on Coruscant in the Jedi temple, to other planets where they would be hidden. Laman's list of possible planets was accepted, with a few minor adjustments. The council also agreed to advise all Jedi to travel in groups, since Korgul's phantoms generally worked in small groups, unless they had changed their attacking style they were unlikely to go for more than three at once.

Most of the academies were to be very small, so if they were discovered losses would be minimal. The largest of the new academies would have two hundred pupils and trainers. Marka would oversee the evacuation process and the setting up of the new academies, while many of the other masters on the council would be in charge of these new academies. Of course, now there would be too many academies to have most of the students under the direct control of the high council. Other Jedi masters would be heading many of these other academies.

Something else came up as well. For although there were only ten recognised masters of the Yoshi Ma form in the Sith empire, there were many others who practised it, perhaps a hundred or more. If that hundred were to hit the Jedi, they would make mincemeat out of them. Marka and Ramon couldn't possibly fight them all, even if the other Jedi masters were up to the challenge they would be bogged down by sheer numbers. They needed to have a force capable of taking them on, and for that they needed Jedi capable of using the form, many Jedi. Ramon volunteered to take fifty of the most talented Jedi and train them, he was the only Jedi who knew the form well enough besides Marka to teach it, and Marka's duties dictated that he wouldn't have time for such extended training. It was a plan that Marka, Bastila and Ramon had been working on for the last little while; they had decided that fifty was the most that could be taught effectively. He would likely be busy with them for between six months and a year, perhaps even longer.

Deciding who was to go proved tricky. All of the Jedi who would be able to learn Yoshi Ma were serving currently as trainers, and to take them away would place huge strains on the academies, which were already suffering with too many padawans and not enough trainers. It had got to the point where Jedi who had only just reached the rank of padawan were teaching beginner classes. They desperately needed fully trained Jedi, and this proposal would drain them of fifty of the most experienced and powerful. But it had to be done if they were to have any chance in the future.

Another problem proved to be that many on the council felt that the Republic should have a decent representation in the fifty, but almost all of the Jedi at the required level were ex-Sith. In the end they were forced to place every last capable Jedi who wasn't an ex-Sith. Ironically, nearly all of them had at one point served as Sith under Malak. There were only ten of them. The other forty were the strongest of Marka's ex-Sith. Additionally, they agreed that as many council members as possible should learn. Astin and Mical would learn together, Marka would have to create a training holocron for them, as well as for Yarin, who would train with Brianna on Telos. Kaah, fortunately, had been training with Ramon, and had progressed far enough that he could continue on his own. Kaya had trained with her husband and, according to her, was also good enough to continue on her own; she would also be able to train with Laman.

"I think I should learn as well," said Bastila, at the point when the others obviously thought that they had covered everything and were getting ready to go.

"You'll be behind the front lines, with your Battle-Meditation," said Astin crossly. "You won't need it."

"Even so, I might end up in the front lines, and there's always the possibility that the Sith will come after me."

"But how will you learn?" asked Marka. "I could make another holocron, but without a training partner it wouldn't help. The others are too inexperienced to help anyone but themselves, they will be off Coruscant anyways. And you cannot go with Ramon, for obvious reasons."

"You're helping to set up the new academies," she said quickly. "I could travel with you. I could help out, and learn on the way."

"But…" Mical began.

"I think it's a great idea," said Kaya, surprising everybody. It was no secret that the two women did not get along. Bastila was grateful for it though, with Kaya's support Marka certainly would go along with it. Why she had, Bastila did not know.

"What about the grandmaster's duties?" said Kaah.

"That's why there is a second," said Astin, puffing up his chest importantly. He deflated slightly under the annoyed gaze of nearly the entire council.

"I'll only be gone for two months," said Bastila. That was if everything went according to plan and they did not hit any unexpected hitches.

"Then it is agreed," said Marka. "I'll expect you at the Alderon academy on evacuation day." Evacuation day was in five days.

--

Mical caught up with her in the passageways.

"What was that about?" he asked in a controlled voice, which was his way of showing that he was angry. "You are leaving me to deal with this Sith infiltrator all by myself?"

Bastila turned her face towards him as they walked. "I need you to expose them, Mical. I would do nothing but get in the way if I tried to help, I'm too well known. But if we're to face this Sith, we'll definitely need Marka's help. I need to meet with him. I don't trust the communication lines for this, if the Chancellor is a Sith, who knows how many strategically placed people he has. Even secure lines can be tapped. Besides, I do need to learn his form."

A small group of female initiates of various species passed by, greeting the two masters enthusiastically. Bastila and Mical murmured greetings and words of encouragement back. When they were a safe distance away they continued.

"Why involve him at all?" Mical said pointedly.

"We have to assume that the infiltrator has support. Force, there could be dozens of undercover Sith for all we know. With Marka on our side, and his two padawans, we could deal with a small army." Marka's padawans were two of the most promising that they had found, and both had progressed at an alarming rate, now even passing experienced knights and masters with regards to power and skill. Their help would be nearly as valuable as Marka's.

"And I'm to keep a close watch on Astin during our training?"

"That's why you're together."

"This is insane," he said softly, pronouncing each word precisely. Bastila knew from experience that Mical only did that when he was furious. "If Astin is the Sith, we are training him to be even more dangerous."

"We have no choice, we can't let the fact that we know anything slip," she countered. "Besides, if he isn't the Sith, we'll need his help in the coming war."

"Just be careful with Marka," Mical warned. "Regardless of what he is now, he was once the apprentice of a Sith Master. There is still a dark taint in him, which I believe will never truly leave. While he may be helping us now, just remember that he does so for his own reasons, not for any love of the Republic or the Jedi. And though he looks it, he is not Revan."

Then he stalked off, leaving an open-mouthed and bewildered Bastila in his wake.

--

**Alderon, Jedi Academy**

Kaya walked through the grounds, carrying her half-sleeping daughter, watching the various training groups. Tomorrow they would be assigned to their new academies, where they would be sent in less than a week's time when the Alderon academy was disbanded. Already most of them were beginning to pack their few belongs, for if there was any sign of nearby attacks they would have to evacuate immediately.

The entire Jedi order thought that Korgul was behind the attack; only Kaya knew the truth. She was the one responsible, she had killed all those people. She had used the Force to make sure Marka wouldn't wake up and sense what she was doing through the bond, and flown to nearly the other side of the planet, dressed in black. She made sure to have a vibroblade to make sword wounds in the bodies and a powerful stealth-generator, in addition to her double-bladed lightsaber. This was because Korgul was known to use a blade, be invisible and take the heads of his intended victims. Kaya had only had thirteen targets, all of them shady businessmen, criminal lords and gang bosses whose actions in the future would compromise the Republic. All of the other losses were guards, lackeys, clients and people who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. More than half the deaths had happened at one point when she had almost been caught, and had been forced to use the Force to create enough mayhem to escape, while making it look like an explosion.

Kaya tried to not blame herself for the murders. It had been the only way she had seen in the visions to get the Jedi to move their academies to safer locations fast enough. And the death of her targets would help the Republic's cause. But she couldn't stop playing the faces of those who were innocent through her minds eye. Yesterday she had only killed three in her entire life, and only in self-defence. Today she was responsible for the deaths of ninety-one more. She had felt every one of their lives go to the Force. Three of them had been little children.

The infant made a small noise, brushing her undeveloped mind Kaya easily discerned that she was hungry. She sat down on the grass and exposed a breast for her. Belaya dug into it greedily; Kaya winced as her nipple was bitten by currently toothless gum. _Wait until she grows some teeth_, she thought, and shuddered.

The worst part was that Kaya knew that this was this was just the beginning. She would do far, far worse before the end. Yet again she wondered if she could go through with it, but a glance down at Belaya, suckling contentedly, was enough to dispel her doubts. Even if she did not know if this future would hold hope, she knew for certain that the other paths had all led to defeat and death. And in that scenario there would be infinitely more deaths than there would be even if she killed madly for the rest of her life.

Marka came running into view, a long practice staff in his hands, his two padawan apprentices armed similarly and in hot pursuit. Kaya had seen the dark-skinned Miraluka before, but had never spoken to him and did not know his name. The towering blonde woman she hadn't met. Marka had taken her up shortly after their last meeting two months ago. Kaya wasn't jealous; she knew Marka would never cheat on her as long as he knew she lived. On the field Marka had turned to face them, the dull clash of the weapons sounding across the grounds, as well as the padawan's excited shouts and curses. Marka said nothing, except to instruct. As always, he fought cold. In Kaya's arms Belaya stopped drinking, and started making small mewing sounds. Plainly she was distressed by all the commotion.

Kaya got up to leave. At that point the tall, woman padawan managed to lock blades with Marka, while the Miraluka tackled him down. The women then jumped on top of them and the three rolled down the shallow hill to land in a jumbled heap in a small, muddy stream. Their laughter was infectious. Kaya found herself laughing until tears ran down her cheeks. She had needed a good laugh badly.

As Marka got up, somehow using the Force to dry his robes, Kaya saw him looking at her intently. With long strides he reached her, and was kissing her passionately almost before she registered that he was in front of her. He broke away seconds later, leaving her breathless. She reached up with her free hand and brushed the grass out of his hair. He was smiling, that same smile that he given her when they had first kissed, on that perfect Sedan night. Kaya thought her heart might burst. He only ever smiled like this for her.

"And what's this, who do we have here?" he exclaimed in mock-surprise. He took the bundle that contained Belaya from Kaya carefully, and smiled again, giving the same smile. Kaya felt a sudden pang of irrational jealousy, which she immediately chastised herself about. There was nothing wrong with Marka smiling at their daughter, but at some level she had felt ownership of that smile. Now there were two with a claim to it.

Marka's padawans crowded around to get a better look, clearly intrigued by the infant who was only two days old, commenting excitedly on how tiny she was. Marka held Belaya up to get a better look at her, she reached out a tiny hand and tried to grab his nose, which was just out of her reach.

"She knows her daddy," said the blonde woman, giving Kaya a half wink. She really needed to find out her name, and the Miraluka's while she was at it.

"She'll be a fearsome Jedi when she grows up," Marka laughed. Rather than cheering her though, Marka's comment made ice grip Kaya's heart. She had to discipline her face to keep it from slipping, and blocked her bond with Marka. Fortunately he was too absorbed with their daughter to notice.

Kaya knew that their daughter's future was far from secure, as was their own. Once again she resolved to do whatever it took. But that would mean that she and Marka could only have until they evacuated the academy together, and then she would have to leave him, and convince him that she was gone for good. The thought wrenched her insides, she knew exactly what he would end up doing to dull the pain of loss. She looked at Marka's happy face, he would soon be at least as devastated as she was feeling. And he would need to be, he would need to be totally submerged in pain and anger if he was to survive. Even if she was able to reveal one day to him the reasons why she had done what she was going to do, he would probably not forgive and come back to her. Probably he would have another woman by then. Kaya was losing him, in order to save him.

She would just have to make the most of their last days together.

--

**Telos Polar Regions, Jedi Academy**

The first few days at the academy were both tiring and stressful for Orrin. It was much like starting over all over again his military career, only many times harder. Not only did he have to learn his way around the academy and learn a whole new set of names, they were expected to reach a level of fitness that rivalled that of professional athletes. Strength training was a bit easier in that they were only expected to push themselves as much as they could, but they were advised strongly to build it as much as they possibly could, as their lives would probably depend on it. Orrin took that advice especially to heart. He knew from the Jedi's reaction when they had recruited him that his Force-sensitivity level had been borderline – he had only just been strong enough to merit training. If he could not be strong in the Force he would have to compensate with physical strength. He seemed to go to bed every night with aching muscles, smothered in cream so that they would be right by the morning. His bed was starting to smell of muscle-cream.

Orrin and Gerald had become close during their time together. Not only were they roommates, but they shared a class. Gerald had become almost a substitute for his brother Eric, their relationship was very similar. They were always together, so much so that another student joked about them being 'joined at the hip'. They never spoke of their friendship, but they were always there for each other. And they would always involve themselves in whatever the other was doing.

Most of the ex-military academy students had been split up, but there were two more of them in their class. They were taken by a knight named Dustil Onasi, a young man who would have been good-looking if it were not for the perpetual scowl that adorned his face. He was well known for his moods, as dark as his hair and eyes, as well as an often-volatile temper; which Orrin and Gerald had felt from day one. He obviously considered them a nuisance, and was far more concerned about getting himself ready for the coming war. Dustil had trained himself to the peak of fitness and strength, and saw no reason why they shouldn't be there as well. Often he pushed them far harder than they could manage, and then got angry with those who couldn't cope. Once, when one of the students suggested politely that he was pushing them too hard he exploded into a fit of rage. He grabbed him by the front of his robes and lifted him high with one hand, no mean feat considering that the other was at least as heavy as him. He might have done him serious harm if some of the other trainers had not rushed over and forcibly restrained him before calming him down. The incident hadn't changed anything though, he was still their trainer, Orrin suspected it was because there was nobody else who was free to take them.

Word from the local grapevine was that Dustil had lost his wife during the now-famous Rescue of O'Dus. He had gained the respect and gratitude of all the ex-Sith as a result, and they watched out for him, getting him out of trouble that he invariably got himself into with his hot head. He nursed a great hatred for the true Sith, and seemed to live only out of a will to kill them. He even disliked the ex-Sith who watched out for him. Still, Orrin had to admit that he had learned a lot from the crazy Jedi, already he had begun to feel the Force and his fitness level was improving. The Shii-cho lightsaber form Orrin had mastered with ease, it was very similar to the swordplay that he had already mastered during his advanced military training. With lightsaber forms though there was far more to learn.

Today, as they stood in front of their master, there seemed to be an air of contentment about him. Orrin wasn't certain if he was feeling through the Force or natural intuition, but Dustil looked like one who was about to announce that he had been elected Chancellor of the Galactic Republic.

"Looks as though he's worked out a new schedule to work us even harder," Gerald muttered in his ear. Orrin groaned.

"Initiates, you will be pleased to know that as of tomorrow, I will no longer be serving as your trainer," Dustil said, and suddenly the class which had been staring dully at him – wondering what stunts he would be pulling on them today – perked up and started smiling and chatting excitedly between each other. Dustil scowled, and continued, "I understand that I have not been the easiest master to be under," ('_the understatement of the millennia,' _thought Orrin) "…but I can promise you that no proper master will work you any less. You are here to learn to kill Sith, and you'd better learn it well, otherwise they will kill you."

He took a deep breath and continued, "As for myself, I have been recognised for my skills as one of the most powerful Jedi in the Republic. I am being taken to a specialised training camp to train under Master Ramon in the greatest form. There I will learn to be stronger, faster, more deadly, more powerful, a KILLER." A mad glint had lit up his eyes and his voice had gained more and more power until he was all but shouting. Those nearest to him began backing away, their eyes fearful. Dustil must have realised that he was frightening them, for he moderated his tone and said, "Lets get to today's classes, shall we."

The days exercises were no less difficult than usual, but at least their master seemed either more relaxed or somewhere else for most of the day, so there were no incidents; which was a first. At the end of the day, Dustil called them all together.

"Tonight I leave, tomorrow you will meet your new trainer. She's only just arrived from off world, and she's only just been promoted to padawan. But don't think that means she will be taking it easy on you. Work hard in your studies, may the Force be with you."

"May the Force be with you too, master," they chanted respectfully, mainly because they still feared his temper. He dismissed them and Orrin was elated. They were finally free of that madman. Hopefully their next trainer would be at least halfway sane.

--

**Alderon, Jedi Academy**

There was a saying on Alderon, 'you can never fully appreciate what you've got, until it's gone.' Kaya Cabanic though was fully aware of everything that she had, because she knew that she was just about to lose it. For the last few days she had been fully appreciating everything that she had, her daughter, her position in the Jedi, her friends. And; above everything else, Marka, her husband.

At around midnight Bastila would be arriving. She would have arrived in the afternoon but had had to take a detour due to her hyperspace route being blocked by a stubborn asteroid, or so she had said. The next morning they would begin the evacuation sequence, and Marka would be leaving with his padawans, Bastila and her padawans to supervise the setting up of the new academies; while conducting training the whole time. Kaya would be leaving on her personal mission, and would probably never see him again. Once again she was tempted to stray from the path she had set; she consoled herself in the knowledge that it was the only way she knew that would give him a chance of living.

Kaya walked out into the veranda of her quarters in a light shift, staring out into the sky. The sun was going down, splashing colour all over the sky. The vivid colours reminded her sharply of when Marka had proposed to her. She smiled as she had remembered the tension they had been under then, with the constant threat of discovery mingled with a fear for their lives. It seemed like nothing compared to the tension now, with the whole Republic riding on their shoulders. Chiefly Marka's, it was true. But although he was the most capable man she had ever met, she knew what they were up against. She had felt the awesome powers of Marka's old master, it had been like a beacon when he had been around, terrifying her. Even though Marka had strengthened noticeably since his conversion to the light side, not that he had ever been a true dark side follower to begin with, he still fell short of that level. And even if he could match the Sith Masters one on one, there were seven of them and one of him. Each one had an apprentice or two of similar power, and Force knew how powerful the Dark Lord and his apprentice were to keep them in check. Everything she knew about the true Sith and their empire seemed to stack the odds further against the Jedi and the Republic.

Marka was behind her, she could sense him through their bond – the bond that had been forged when he had first touched her with the Force, very much unintentionally. She heard his heavy steps as he came up behind and wrapped his arms around her, holding her middle tightly as he started kissing the nape of her neck. He was wet and still steaming hot from the refresher. She could feel his every contour; absently she moved a hand to his lower thighs to make sure that he was actually wearing something. He was, the skin-tight black pants that had given him a reputation on the Coruscant academy. Kaya smiled as she remembered the incident.

While Marka had been on Coruscant and reviewing the academy, he had drawn up such a substantial list of things to be improved and changed that many of the masters there had taken offence. One of them was an Echani grandmaster, considered by many to be the greatest unarmed fighter in the galaxy. He had, probably at Astin Lamar's urging, challenged Marka to a duel; Echani style. While the grandmaster had worn a pair of discreet shorts and a vest, Marka had taken the 'no clothes' rule to heart and appeared in nothing but the black skin-tight pants that he was wearing now. With his perfectly toned body, and the pants that revealed absolutely everything, he had caught the eye of every woman who had watched that day, and possibly some of the men. He had also infuriated Kaya, who still felt that the sight of him belonged primarily to her. The fight that followed had been an awesome display of Sith Martial combat versus Echani unarmed skills. Marka's huge advantage, though, had been his grafted Mandalorian iron feet, which had quickly done too much damage to the Echani for him to continue; even though Marka had reframed from using his claws. Aside from that the two men would have probably been evenly matched.

Marka now was running his hands over his wife's body. "I seem to remember another sunset," he whispered in her ear. Plainly he was also thinking about the day he had proposed to her, and that thought was making him more inclined towards romance.

Kaya blushed as a group of padawans walked past not too far away. She could feel their eyes on them. Marka did not stop, he seemed utterly oblivious to the fact that they were being watched. One of the women said something to her friend, Kaya could read her lips clearly even from the distance; "I need to get me one of those, one like that!"

"Lets go inside," Kaya suggested, not enjoying the fact that they were being ogled. She led him inside, uncomfortably aware that she was giving them an excellent view of her husbands backside. Even if it was their last night together, he was still hers. She shut the door and screen, pulling down the blinds to the windows. Marka had gone to the other side of the room to do the same thing.

As the light in the room became dim, Kaya looked at her husband, determined to brand his image into her mind. His firm, muscular body; his metallic feet and ankles, even his numerous scars. The largest of those were the Terantatek scratches that dominated the left side of his face, and continued down his chest. He had received those protecting her during the Sedan raid only seven months ago. Seeing them again reminded her sharply of how much he had sacrificed for her and her ideals. If he had not gone over to the Jedi he would likely now be preparing to invade the Republic with the other Sith, secure in his skills and position, matched against opponents that wouldn't stand any chance against him. He had sacrificed that security, his position and hope of advancement, and probably would lose his life in the foreseeable future. Guilt filled Kaya's heart, she didn't deserve this level of commitment from him. He didn't deserve what she was going to do to him.

"It'll only be for a month or so," said Marka. He must have felt her emotions through the bond, and interpreted it as pain at being away from him again, so soon after he had come back.

"I know," she lied, stepping into his inviting embrace. He could never know what she was planning, too many variables in the possible futures would occur then. He might even try to stop her. She just had to be content to have him now. His lips found hers, their breath mingling. She slipped her tongue into his mouth, relishing warmth and slickness of him. His lips curled in a smile as his tongue entwined with hers. They both knew from nearly a year of marriage that kissing like that was the unspoken request.

Marka grabbed the neckline of her shift with both hands, and pulled. The material tore with little resistance to his iron grip, ripping right down to the base and slipping off her shoulders to the floor. Kaya stepped calmly out of it, totally nude, aware and pleased that he was enjoying looking at her. Then his hands were all over her, his lips covering hers, before moving down to her neck. Kaya shivered with pleasure, his hands left her skin warm, his touch was bliss, his tongue was fire on her neck as he moved ever lower; agonisingly slowly. For her own part, her hands were all over him; melding to his shape, glorying in his firm muscles and smooth contours and skin. His cheek touched the side of her neck, she felt an explosion of warmth deep in her chest at the feeling of his slight roughness of stubble against her sensitive skin. She moaned aloud.

He moved lower, taking her breasts in his hands and fondling them before running his tongue over them. Milk dribbled out of them and he paused, obviously not impressed by this new development. Kaya was about to say something, she didn't quite know what to say, it was perfectly natural considering. Before she had a chance he took her torn shift and wiped her dry. Dropping it, he continued kissing and touching her, leaving out her breasts. Kaya breathed in to sigh with dissatisfaction; she had always enjoyed him fondling her there. That sigh became a groan of pleasure as one of his hands ran up the inside of her thigh and settled between her legs.

"When did you learn to do that?" she managed to moan as his fingers moved in her, reduced to puddle by the waves of pleasure that he was inflicting. Her hands were gripping onto fistfuls of his hair.

He looked up at her, "I've had two months to study…" he began to explain, but she was in no mood for such a discussion and pulled his face to where his hand had been. He responded just the way she'd hoped he would, apparently he had also learned new tricks there. Minutes later she was a groaning with pleasure, crying out his name. The world around her dissolved into a sea of black oblivion as she sank to the floor.

She came to moments later. She was in Marka's arms, he was on his knees, carrying her easily just above the floor. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. Her whole body was tingling with pleasure; her skin' warmth was only bettered by the heat that seemed to engulf her heart. "I love you," she whispered.

"You came without me," he said, sounding put out. The effect was spoiled somewhat by the huge amount of personal pride she knew he was taking through their bond.

"And it was wonderful," she said, smiling suggestively. She had barely got the words out when he covered her mouth with his, kissing her intently and passionately as he lowered her to the floor. Her desire returned immediately, and she pulled him on top of her. His body melded perfectly to hers, she wrapped her thighs around him and pulled her legs up, catching her toes around the waistline of his pants and yanking them down.

Whatever the future, they would always have this night.


	4. The First Massacre

Star Wars: The Dark Empire

**Star Wars: The Dark Empire**

**Episode 2 - Jenesis**

**Part 4 - The First Massacre**

**Telrahvin, Bruban city**

On the top of one of the tallest buildings in Bruban, a black-cloaked creature growled as she let her senses scour the surface of the planet. Her left-sided limbs were all mechanical, her arm long enough to reach the floor with its tripod grip. She was clothed in black cloth and silvery metal plates. Her face was half covered in a half mask, half of the one that had originally belonged to Darth Nihilis. The left eye underneath was covered in black cloth, she obviously could not use it. The right side revealed that she might once have been a woman of striking beauty, but what dark side ravages had not covered, burns had. Her remaining eye glowed with yellow irises, a few strands of her bleach-white hair hung in front of it.

She was Jezebel Torin, the Jedi exile. A woman who had given up her connection to the Force at the climax of the Mandalorian War, in order to save her life. She had later discovered that she had the ability to feed off the deaths of those she killed, absorbing the Force through them. This ability meant that she could grow far more powerful than any other normal Force user ever could, no matter their potential. That power that she would use to extract her revenge; against the one who had made her like this, Revan. Her only weakness was that her power slowly bled out of her, a problem that had been worsened by her terrible wounding at the self-destruction of the traitor GOTO.

Revan might know techniques for hiding his Force signature, but none could hide from her. She could shatter the most intricate Force-weaves with negligent ease. If he was on this planet, or in this system even, she would know soon enough. But there was no sign of him. Jezebel felt the rage boiling up from her stomach, this had been another false lead. She threw back her head and screamed.

Jaq Rand, the leader of her followers, came running out of the Ebon Hawk. "Milady, there's someone attempting to contact us on our secure line."

Jezebel frowned, the Ebon Hawk was a smugglers vessel, and outfitted with countless parts by its various shady owners to make it more useful for their nefarious purposes. The secure line could not possible be accessed without the proper codes, Jezebel herself had not been able to use the line. The only one who could possibly have activated it was the one who had set the code in the first place. And she had a strong suspicion who that was. She walked quickly back to the Ebon Hawk.

She passed a few of her newest recruits on her way to the ship, they quickly scrambled out her way, bowing in deference. Since her recovery she had come to value being able to rely on underlings to do her killing for her, and so had launched into a vicious recruitment campaign. She would hunt down Force-sensitives, and kill them if they would not join her. Her numbers had increased so substantially that there was now not enough room in the Ebon Hawk to accommodate them all, she would have to find other craft. Entering the ship, she went straight to the holo-generator.

The blue projected image of a robed man stood before her. Although his only his chin and mouth were exposed though his hood, Jezebel knew precisely who it was. "Revan," she growled, "where are you?"

Revan gave a smile, it looked forced. "Far away from you, Jez. But my name is Never, Revan is someone who I once was, but not any more. Speaking of names, have you changed your name to Darth something-or-other yet?"

"Cute," Jezebel snorted, "Remember Revan, it was you who invented that title." The former Dark Lord started to deny it, she cut through his protests with a loud "You may call me 'Milady'. How long must we continue this game Revan, you know how it has to end."

"Then so long as I keep on playing, I live," he said simply.

"Then I will simply have to corner you," said Jezebel, "or take someone you love hostage. I know all about your Bastila, Revan, I heard she even bore your child." Although his face remained impassive, the sudden stiffness in Revan's posture gave away a weak point. "I'm tired of chasing your shadow, _Prodigal knight_," she sneered at the title, "you can either come out and face me, or watch those you love die."

"You'll never get to them," he said, trying to sound confident, his voice though was wavering with uncertainty. Ever so slightly, but Jezebel's highly attuned senses could pick up more than the most highly trained Jedi Masters.

"Won't I," said Jezebel, suppressed rage dripping off every word. "You'd be amazed at what I can do, after what you did to me on Malachor V."

Revan looked genuinely pained as he tried awkwardly to apologize. Jezebel cut him off, "Silence, Revan. You don't mean any of it, and don't tell me again that you've changed, because even if you have; _I don't care_. We both know that you are only trying to scavenge survival for your scrawny hide. You discarded me with the rest of the garbage then, all I'm doing now is returning the favour."

"Jezebel, there is a threat approaching the Republic far greater than the Mandalorians, far more terrible and powerful than anything we have ever faced."

"You will refer to me as 'Milady'. And why should I care about the Republic either, what did they ever do for me?"

Revan's voice was gaining in volume, and desperation. "The true Sith are coming, they are the ones that made the Mandalorians invade. And now they come to bring in an era of absolute darkness."

"Then if they cross my path, I will destroy them as well," Jezebel stated bluntly. "And even if they manage to kill me; which is highly unlikely; I don't really care, as long as I get you first."

He shook his head sadly, giving up. "Then you are vengeance incarnate, there's nothing I can do or say to reason with you."

"Finally, some sense out of you," said Jezebel dryly, "Now why don't I show you what I'm capable of. Be sure to watch holo-net tonight. Because this will be happening everywhere I go until you present yourself to me."

"What are you going to do?" said Revan in quick alarm, but Jezebel had had enough of talking to him, and switched off the holo-generator.

"Visas, Jaq," she called, "Get the others ready, we have work to do. And unshackle Hanharr, he'll enjoy this."

--

Bruban city shook as yet another massive blast sent speeders and sentient beings flying and buildings toppling. Everywhere was mayhem and destruction, hundred story buildings ripped up from their foundations and smashed into others. Bodies lay everywhere, scattered like broken toys around and in the rubble. Mad laughter once again shook the city. The power flickered, and then went out, the heat of the city immediately dropping while everything went totally black.

The explosions continued though. The survivors huddled together in the cold, and prayed for the demon to go.

--

**Mid-rim space**

Never shook with shock and horror as he stared at the holo-generator. He could see initial reports of what was happening on Bruban city, things did not look good. Already there were an estimated five million dead. Five million, killed by just one person! It was horrific, and knowing Jezebel's vampiric abilities she would have sucked the life force from every one that she had killed, and likely have more than doubled in power as a result. If the combined might of the Jedi could have defeated her before, they certainly couldn't now. The only ones who could take her on now were the Sith empire, but knowing Jezebel's disposition she was as likely to side with them as ignore or fight them.

He felt so useless as he watched the numbers of confirmed deaths slowly rise. It had already climbed over the one million mark, and Jezebel had only left Telrahvin just over an hour ago. Apparently she had also taken over a score of prisoners, and two extra small frigates besides her original. Her reasoning was obvious, her captives had enough Force-potential to bind to her, and the extra ships were because she couldn't house them all on the Ebon Hawk. Jezebel was building her own private Elite army, all bound absolutely to her will, and trained in the Jedi arts.

His holo-generator flared beside him, and Never breathed with relief. Finally he was receiving a response. The images and statistics of Bruban winked out, replaced by a blue image of Marka at the centre of the generator, somewhat smaller than life-size. Never knew that in reality Marka was only a shade shorter than him, while being slightly more solidly built. His scratch-scars on left side of his face were the only immediately noticeable difference between his and Never's face.

"I trust there is a good reason why you contacted me at this hour, Revan," said Marka coldly, scowling at him. He was wearing a gown, and looked as though he'd been woken up.

Never took a deep breath to calm himself after being addressed like that. It didn't help that he was already stressed from his conversation with Jezebel. Marka still seemed to react very much like a Sith when he was in a bad mood. His action wasn't lost on the other, who sighed and also seemed to get his displeasure under control.

"Call me Never, I'm not Revan anymore. Have you seen the recent reports?" Never asked.

"Its my last night with my wife before I leave," said Marka, "She almost didn't let me take your call."

Never's jaw clenched as he processed the other man's statement. A sharp sense of jealousy threatened to rise to the surface; he hadn't seen his wife for nearly six years. Thinking about her made him remember what Jezebel had threatened, and the fear returned. "Did Bastila make it to you, is she safe?" he asked anxiously.

"I haven't checked, she should have arrived a few hours ago," said Marka grumpily, "Please tell me that you didn't just call to check if she…"

"Marka, Jezebel leveled a city on Telrahvin." he cut in.

The other man was silent for a moment, "Is it bad?"

"Is there such thing as a good attack? Perhaps five million dead. That's not all, Jezebel seems to be building a private force."

Marka shrugged, "They are of no consequence. My apprentices will cut right through them."

"She already has thirty or more, by the time face her she could have over a hundred. Regardless how good your apprentices are, they can't fight so many."

"Then I'll just need support."

"Are you seriously still planning to go after her?" Never's jaw twitched. It had been his idea for Marka to do it, but seeing now what she was capable of he didn't think he would even stand a chance. "Even if you had a hundred Jedi at your back, it wouldn't make a difference"

Marka's eyes widened at Never's statement, the blood draining from his face in an expression of absolute shock. Then he shook his head, seemingly regaining his composure. "Nevertheless, she must be dealt with. And don't doubt that this task is no harder than the one I set you."

"Korgul," said Never, "Was it him on Alderon?" Something about his last statement had hit Marka, hard, _what was it?_

"Either him or an imitator. It would have to have been good one too, as a Sith master's apprentice I studied his style. Everything about the attack matches him, the explosion was a bit extravagant but he has been known to do that in certain situations. But nobody in the Republic has ever heard of Korgul, so it must be either him or one of his Phantoms pretending to be him. Either way, Korgul is definitely here and active."

Hugas had appeared in the room. Never beckoned him closer and showed him Marka. "This is Hugas, my apprentice. He'll be guarding my back when I take on Korgul."

Marka looked him up and down critically, "He's rather large for a Jedi,"

Hugas growled, Never placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him from saying anything. "He has come a very long way, Marka, and could well surpass even me with Force-power." His blue eyes were hard as ice as he defended his padawan.

Marka was nonchalant. "That will not help against Force-dead assassins, I hope he's good with a lightsaber."

To that Never had no answer. He knew that Hugas would never be a blade master, no matter how hard he tried. It just wasn't in him. Understanding flickered in Marka's eyes, and his expression darkened.

At that point another image joined Marka's, it was a stunning young woman with long curling hair dressed in an identical gown to Marka's. Hugas' eyes widened as he let out an audible gasp. Never had noticed during their time together that Hugas had a massive weakness for pretty women, far more than most men. Sadly, he was basically an ugly man, and would be lucky to attract any woman to him. Never couldn't help but pity him. He discreetly pushed him out of the sensor range of the holo-generator, he didn't want Marka to see Hugas ogling his wife.

He recognised the woman with Marka as Kaya from his descriptions of her, he had never seen her before. She was undoubtedly lovely though, Marka was a lucky man. Doubly lucky to be bonded to her, able to know her as he knew himself. She had wrapped her arms around his chest from behind, he gave the first relaxed smile Never had ever seen from him. Nearby Hugas was scowling at the display.

"He really does look a lot like you," said Kaya, comparing the two men. Shrugging it off she said, "Will you be keeping my husband all night? He has important business to be attending to."

He couldn't be sure through the holo-image, but Marka seemed to be blushing mildly. Never could guess exactly what 'important business' she was referring to. Hugas was grating his teeth with jealousy. Never though was pleased to see the two of them together, she made Marka altogether more human, more happy. It reminded him of his time with Bastila before he had left her five years before.

Their meeting was basically over. But before they parted, Never gave a last parting plea, "Marka, I implore you. You know how much you love your Kaya, that is how much I love Bastila. Keep her safe, for me."

The other man nodded once before the image winked out. The holo-generator immediately flicked back to the reports on the Bruban massacre. The confirmed death toll had just risen over the two and a half million mark, with the estimated deaths now at five and a half million.

Never looked sadly at the numbers, which were steadily rising. He wondered sadly how many more innocents would die before it was over.

--

**Coruscant, Underground safe-house**

"Where could they be?" Darth Lignance was pacing, something he only did when he was stressed.

"Patience, Master," said one of the lesser Sith behind him. His other retainer smartly said nothing.

Lignance growled, turning to him threateningly. The other backed away immediately. He reframed from any violent act though, there were only just over a score of the hidden Sith, and it could take him years to train a replacement for that fool. Years that they did not have. It was a good thing that Lignance had to masquerade as a high-ranking Jedi most of the time, he was used to exerting iron control over his emotions.

The trapdoor above them opened, and the sound of steps down the stairway could be heard. Soon a tall slender man in black robes stood before him, flanked by two Sith retainers.

"Darth Feasance," Lignance acknowledged, looking up into his face. "What took you?"

"Just taking special care of some of my puppet senators who thought to break away in the last vote," Feasance said, casually disrobing and throwing his cloak to one of his retainers. "Its been a while, Darth Lignance."

Lignance nodded. Together they had seized the mantle of the Sith after the fall of Darth Traya just over a year ago. They hadn't seen each other since. "I have news of the true Sith."

Feasance laughed. "WE are the true Sith," he scoffed.

He seemed about to continue, but suddenly he was flying and falling backwards, landing hard on his back. His retainers immediately drew their lightsabers in alarm, but Lignance's harsh command prevented them from igniting. On the ground, Feasance gasped for air. A figure materialised, crouched above him with one hand at his throat. His entire body, even his head was covered a shimmering silver suit.

"Wrong," the suited man hissed softly in his face, "you are not even close, amateur. You may have some use to the Master, but only if you do what you're told."

"I never even felt your presence!" Feasance gaped and gasped for air, "That's impossible."

"Darth Feasance, let me introduce to you Korgul Juglur, the Dark Lords left hand." said Lignance.

Korgul straightened, and began to fiddle with something below his chin. "You two will refrain from ever referring to yourselves as 'Darth' ever again. There is only one who bears the title, the one who created it. And if he ever hears your blasphemy even I will not be able to save you." Lignance was quick to agree on their behalf.

Feasance got up, tested his neck and wincing. "How is it possible, I can't even sense him. And I should have sensed his stealth generator as well."

Lignance answered softly, "He's Force-dead. And I don't think he's using a stealth generator, its something else."

Korgul had plainly heard, and nodded, "Smart, I may have some use for you, despite your height." He removed his head covering, and all in the room made noises of shock. He was noticeably handsome, with smooth skin, a good jaw and short sandy hair. But his eyes were what caught their attention. They would have expected natural blues, greens and browns, or even Sith yellow. But they were totally unprepared for his blood red irises.

"Force, your eyes," exclaimed the Sith who had smart mouthed Lignance before. Before the sound of his voice died, blood splattered across the room, and Korgul was wiping his sword. The head bounced on the floor at that moment. Lignance shivered, the whole incident had taken less than a second, Korgul had moved too fast for them to see. Again, they hadn't felt a thing through the Force. It occurred to him that if he wanted Korgul could dispatch them all in seconds, by the expressions on the other Sith's faces they had also realized it. Korgul sheathed his sword, finished with cleaning it.

For the next few hours, Korgul mercilessly interrogated them about everything that they knew, and their position within the Republic and Jedi order. He seemed surprised that the attack on Alderon was being pinned on him, but did not dwell on it. In the end he decided that they were well placed, and could do a great deal to help the pre-invasion attacks.

"You will be my intelligence," he concluded, "You will make it your business to keep informed, and keep me informed. Nothing else, I don't want you to draw attention to yourselves. But I do want you to organise that war that you planned, I will reinforce the aggressors myself. When the true Sith take the galaxy you will be rewarded according to your performance. But be warned, every high level traitor in the empire's head has been severed by my hand, and every one of them was far more powerful than either of you. So don't get any ideas."

Hours later, when Korgul had left and they were finally convinced that he was gone, and not invisible in the room, Feasance said, "Do you think perhaps this alliance was a mistake?"

"It's not like we had any choice," sighed Lignance.

"Dammit, we had it all figured out," Feasance shouted suddenly, "With me controlling the politics of the Republic and you making the Jedi follow that sterile, emotionless path while destroying them from within; there would have been none who could have challenged our power."

"Things change," said Lignance evenly, "We just have to move with the times." It was true, his leadership position in the Jedi had been one of the major causes of its disbanding after the Jedi Civil War.

"I'd have conjured up that war with the Hutts to make the people follow me and give me an excuse to rearm," Feasance raved, "With Military might none could have opposed us, save the Jedi. And with their current reputation, even if they had reformed we could have accused them of some treachery and taken them all out."

Lignance had to agree, but in a different light. If it hadn't been for the 500 ex-Sith's coming to the Republic, the Jedi order would never have returned in force, if at all. Even if they had, Lignance would have slowly crumbled them into nothing like he had done before. If it hadn't been for the warnings of Marka and his cronies, the Republic would have never started pulling together on its own, there wouldn't be the massed reconstruction efforts. If it hadn't been for him, they would have absolute power in the Republic right now. They could take over the Republic even now, but then their ambitions would be exposed and the Jedi would lead an unstoppable rebellion.

In a sense though he had done them a favour. If they had been in power when the true Sith invaded they would have been overthrown and lost everything. At least now they could scavenge some scraps of power by going along with this 'Korgul' assassin. And they still had their contacts with the Hutts, which Korgul intended to use. Perhaps when the inevitable conquest of the Republic was over, they could both take steps to expand their power. Lignance smiled as he imagined himself as the emperor of both the Republic _and_ the Sith empire. With Feasance as his apprentice of course, they both knew he was the more powerful of the two.

But first the Republic had to fall.

--

**Mid-rim space, the Ebon Hawk**

"Jaq, Visas," said Jezebel "We have a come to a crossroads. We could either go to this planet where the Star Forge used to be, now that we have all the co-ordinates, and see what information about Revan we can dig up. Or we could go to Coruscant and attempt to abduct the Jedi Bastila, and use her as bait to reel him in. Let me hear your thoughts on the matter."

Visas raised her covered head, surprised that her opinion was being asked for once. "Milady, if we should take Revan's woman captive it would be very easy to lure him to us. But it may prove difficult, by all accounts she is one of the most powerful Jedi in the Republic, nothing on you of course, Milady. But it may take a while to infiltrate Coruscant, and she would most likely flee. It is very difficult to track a single sentient in a galaxy with trillions of them."

"That's where I come in," said Jaq boldly, giving a sweeping bow, "Milady, you are infinite power beyond compare. But you're rather conspicuous in your new attire."

He was referring to her robotic left side, a sore point for Jezebel. She felt her anger begin to rise, despite his extravagant compliment.

"Fortunately, I have just the skills you need," Jaq continued, "Give me one of the ships, and I shall hunt down Bastila myself, and bring her to you alive. You meanwhile will be free to explore this 'Star Forge' world."

Jezebel nodded after thinking about it, "That could work. Visas, stop twitching your neck and tell us what's on your mind." Visas had a habit of doing that when there was something she wanted to say.

"Bastila could overpower Jaq and use him to extract your location so that the Jedi could hunt you down," said Visas.

"They'd die," Jezebel said, shrugging. "There's none who could face me."

"Even still, I think I should go with Rand, just the two of us. Together, Bastila would stand no chance against us, and my Force-sight would be very useful in tracking her down."

Jezebel smiled. Those were all valid points, and because they had been with her so long she wasn't afraid to let them out of her sight, now that they were so tightly bonded to her. But she knew the true reason they wanted to go together was that they had become lovers during her incapacitation. While upon finding out she had seethed with rage and jealousy, in the end reason prevailed. Despite her power, she still needed both of their skills. She couldn't really blame Jaq, with her disfiguring injury there was no way that they could come together as a man and woman, and Visas had most likely felt lonely. They had been cooped together for a very long time, alone except for the mad wookie Hanharr, so it was only natural. Since it bound them even more tightly to her, she permitted their little deception. She didn't have to like it though.

"Very well then," she allowed, "but if you do not succeed, the consequences will not be pleasant." she gave a short laugh, "For you, that is."

--

**The Intangible, Coruscant Orbit**

Korgul strode down the line of twenty-four Phantoms, who stood smartly to attention in full battle gear. Although every one of them was dressed in the same skin-tight grey uniform and armour and each had the same .03 Bystander sniper laser-rifle slung over their right shoulders, every one was equipped with different close-range weapons.

At his command, they presented them, in combat position. Some bore blaster pistols, all of different caliber; most had opted for swords or bladed staffs. A few had axes and daggers, one muscular phantom even carried a massive sledge hammer, with a spike fitted on its head. Four had truly exotic weapons, perhaps not as effective as the conventional ones, but useful since most opponents would have no idea how to face them. One bore large wrist-blades, they followed the length of his forearm and extended a further half meter. The second had what appeared to be a staff with spikes on either end, those spikes could be fired off at high velocity at a flick of a switch, and the staff stored plenty of reloads inside. Another carried a bunch of large serrated circular blades, when shot through the launcher mounted on his arm in confined area's they would bounce from wall to wall until they imbedded themselves into something. The last had possibly the strangest armament, two half-moon blades about forty centimetres in length that he gripped in the centre. He also carried a selection of smaller poisoned half-moon blades in his belt, those were for throwing.

Satisfied that all were ready, Korgul put them at ease and addressed them. "Our plans have changed. I have contacted our potential allies, and they are amenable. They do have a few conditions though. Instead of eliminating our targets on Coruscant, we will be giving them some time. They have given us the locations of the various academies that they still know the location of," Korgul snarled with anger, "Unfortunately for us, they are in the process of moving most of them to other planets, and the only ones with the complete list of the new academies is the one who came up with them, Laman, the one we now know was the Equilium of the Greys; and a woman called Bastila, who is the Grandmaster of the Jedi. The hidden Sith in the council has no way of getting access to them."

"The only other one who could have it is the traitor Marka, who apparently has been given the rank of Battlemaster of the Jedi, and is overseeing the new academies. If at all possible, we must take one of these three captive. If we can destroy these academies, the coming invasion will be unstoppable, so this must take highest priority. At the same time, remember, our mission is to eliminate Marka Cabanic; but his capture could be even more beneficial to our cause in light of this. So his capture of higher priority, but only if we can't get either of the others.

The anger had been dripping off his voice when he had talked about Laman and Marka, casting a meaningful look at his twenty-four subordinates Korgul finished.

"We are to draw the Jedi into the open when we attack the academy. Our first stop is the polar reaches of Telos."

--

A/N: So there they are, the antagonists of Jenesis. Korgul Juglur - the Dark Lord's left hand, his personal assassin. Jezebel Torin - The Jedi Exile, a Force-vampire with almost unlimited power. Feasance and Lignance - The leaders of the hidden Sith.

Well, I'm sure you can see by now that I am working towards a climactic finish. For the sake of clarity, I am now going to list all the original KOTOR and KOTOR2 characters, and how they fit into my story. (VI) very important character, probably a main character, there is a lot of focus on them in the story. (I) important character, there is some focus on this character. (N) negligible importance, this character will be in the background and have almost no focus shifted upon them. (D) dead/destroyed.

KOTOR

**Revan's crew**

Revan (VI)- Revan currently goes by the name of Never Oneiro, for reasons that will be explained later in the story. He left the Republic six years ago to combat the threat of the true Sith, and succeeded in creating a lot of friction there by inspiring a rebellion against Sith oppression. After the rebellion was crushed, he used his contacts to help Marka to escape Sith space, and returned to the Republic. He is still in hiding though, because Jezebel is out vengeance for what he did to her on Malachor V. He has made a pact with Marka to hunt down Korgul, in exchange for Marka doing the same thing to Jezebel.

Bastila (VI)- Bastila married Revan before his departure, and bore him a son after he left, who remains to be seen in the story. She trained Kaah Ohtok, Dustil and Mira Onasi during her time in hiding, and was instrumental in the Rescue of O'Dus. She is currently the grandmaster of the Jedi order.

Carth Onasi(I)- Carth featured in 'Exodus' as the Republic admiral who led the fleet that rescued the ex-Sith from O'Dus. He was unofficially ousted by the more capable Florien Lorn, and was bitter about that. Both men have yet to be seen in 'Jenesis'.

Mission (I)- Mission is married to prominent Jedi master and Council member Kaah Ohtok. They have a young son, Valor, who has yet to be seen. She took part in the Rescue of O'Dus, working as the chief technician on the flagship 'Archon', and was responsible for one of the battle's greatest turning points. She has yet to be seen in 'Jenesis'. Her rank in 'Exodus' was captain.

Zalbaar (N)- Has yet to feature.

Jolee Bindoe (N)- Has yet to feature, this hasn't been mentioned yet, but he has been serving as a Jedi Master in one of the academies, and will become the master in charge of the new Kashyyk academy.

Juhani (D)- Never received information stating that she was killed on Dantooine by Jezebel or one of her supporters.

**Other Characters**

Dustil Onasi (I)- The only son of Carth. He was trained by Jedi master Zez-kai Ell on Nar Shaddar some time after being redeemed by Revan. After his masters untimely death at the hands of Jezebel, he healed Mira's wounds, and later married her. The two of them were trained by Bastila, and later involved in the rescue of O'Dus. Mira was killed by Jadan during the fight on the surface, and since then Dustil has been consumed by grief and anger, driving him to extremes in his training in the hope of killing as many Sith as possible. He was seen as something of a liability as a trainer, with his short fuse, and was sent to specialized training under Ramon Naj.

Vandar Tokare (I)- Vandar is one of the few original members of the Jedi council that survived. He still commands a great deal of respect from other Jedi, few would dare challenge him on anything.

Forn Dodona (N)- After retiring from her prestigious position in the military, Dodonna entered the political arena. That she was successful is evident, for she now holds the position of Minister of Defence. In this trying time though, it is unlikely to be an easy role to fill.

Yuthora Ban (N)- After wandering the galaxy for many years, Yuthora returned to the Jedi order upon its reforming, and was given the position of Council member. Her influence there is very muted though, looked down from one side for having fallen to the dark side, and looked down from the other for not having been a true Sith. Her position was given mainly to help persuade the Dark Jedi who had followed Darth Malak to return to the order.

KOTOR2

**Exile's crew**

Jezebel Torin (VI)- The Exile has been wrecking destruction wherever she goes, determined to exact her vengeance on Revan. She has taken to looking for the Star Maps, in the hope of finding some clue to his whereabouts. Due her destructive rampage, she was betrayed by some of her crew, most notably by GOTO. His self-destruction destroyed her left side, and burned the rest of her body. She was healed and made mechanical parts by Suvam Tan, in gratitude she killed him. Since her recovery she has redoubled her efforts to hunt him down, and decimated the city of Bruban to make a point. It is likely that this massacre will be the first of many.

Mical Aurain (VI)- Mical was the only one to escape Jezebel's influence. He did so with the help of Bao-Dur, who was killed during their escape. Mical took his blue lightsaber as a memento, it now makes up half of his double-bladed lightsaber. He founded the Telos polar Jedi academy with Brianna, after saving her life. He was also involved in the Rescue of O'Dus, he made the most decisive difference of any of the Jedi there besides Bastila, managing even to kill a Sith during the fight on the surface. Since the reform of the Jedi order he has been appointed as a Council member. He is currently investigating the possibility of Sith insurgents in the Chancellors box, and wishes to make his feelings known to Brianna.

Atton 'Jaq' Rand (I)- Jaq is the leader of Jezebel's followers, still retaining most of his personality even after being bonded to her for so long. He was Jezebel's lover during 'Exodus', but ever since she took terrible damage at the hand of GOTO it has been physically impossible for them to come together, and Jaq has moved on to Visas. He has currently been tasked with abducting Bastila.

Visas (I)- Visas has followed Jezebel for a long time now, totally swearing herself to the other's cause. She has recently begun a relationship with Jaq, and will accompany him in abducting Bastila.

Hanharr (N)- The mad wookie is still with Jezebel. He is mostly restrained until it is time to kill.

Canderous Ordo, Mandalore (N)- Has yet to feature.

Bao-Dur (D)- Bao-Dur was mortally wounded by HK-47 while he attempted to escape Jezebel with Mical. He did manage to destroy the killer droid before he died in Mical's arms.

HK-47 (D)- The assassin droid was destroyed by mortally wounded Bao-Dur while attempting to halt their escape. His legs and retractably-clawed feet, the largest part of him remaining, were taken by Mical. They are now Marka's artificial legs.

T3-M4 (D)- The droid was destroyed in a fit of rage by Jezebel. Ironically, if she had taken the time to investigate him properly, he contained many of the clues about Revan's whereabouts that she was tearing the galaxy apart to find.

GOTO (D)- GOTO came to the (correct) conclusion that Jezebel was destabilizing the Republic by her actions. He tried to kill her, and was badly damaged. His proton detonator went off as a result, destroying him and nearly killing Jezebel.

**Other Characters**

Brianna Kae (I)- Brianna survived Jezebel's assault on the Telos, and recovered under Mical's care. She founded the Telos academy with him later, and took part in the Rescue of O'Dus. She was promoted to Jedi Master some time after that, and is currently the second in charge of the Telos academy.

Mira Onasi (D)- Mira was killed by Jadan Iscarn during the Rescue of O'Dus.


	5. Why we fight

**Star Wars: The Dark Empire**

**Episode 2 - Jenesis**

**Part 5 - Why We Fight**

**Alderaan, Jedi Academy**

It was shortly after dawn, and Marka and Kaya were standing outside the academy, observing the last of the students being loaded into a Y-wing shuttle. Marka had his arms around his wife's body, his hands scandalously placed on her breasts. It hardly mattered, there were few left in the academy to see them, and most were too preoccupied in last-minute checks before they left to notice. The students and trainers were being transported to different locations, where smaller; better concealed academies were being prepared. It was unfortunate, but the academy had just been too visible, and would likely have attracted the attention of Korgul and his assassins soon.

Marka turned his face away as a blast of air from the transport shuttle's take-off swept his wife's hair into his face, annoyingly close to his eyes. The shuttle, soon hovering a hundred meters above them, ignited its main engines and blasted out of sight. Marka raised his hand, silently wishing them a safe journey. They would be going to Kashyyyk, where the wookies had offered to give them a hand helping them set up their new academy. Their chances of being found there were almost negligent, and they would have the added advantage of Kashyyk's harsh environment and dangerous creatures to hone their combat skills, while having sanctuary in the treetops.

"Do you wonder how our actions effect the future?" said Kaya suddenly, cutting like a knife through his thoughts.

Marka blinked, the statement had taken him totally by surprise. He knew Kaya well enough to tell that she was in a strange mood, if her stance and movement were not enough, their bond confirmed it. She was wretched, and yet utterly focused and determined. He could have put down her emotions as sadness at his leaving again, and determination not to overreact. But was definitely something wrong there, she was trying too hard to hide her obvious anxiety. He knew that she was also worried about what might happen if he fought Jezebel or Korgul, but this was going too far.

"Where is this coming from?" he asked, referring both to her statement and her emotional turmoil.

"Forget it," she said, moving out of his embrace.

Marka took her firmly by the shoulders and pulled her around, so that she was facing him. "I'm no fool, Kaya, something's up. Have you had more visions?"

During the Rescue of O'Dus, Kaya had had a short series of visions, which had allowed her to know exactly the moment when she had been about to be released. She had also known that she would be needed at Marka's side when he was confronted by his old Master, her presence there had saved life. She had saved him again by finding bringing Ramon and Mical to his aid a short while later, instants before he would have been killed. Since then she'd had a few minor visions, but with the galaxy becoming a far more dangerous place recently it was more likely she would be having them, since they all seemed to be brought about by impending peril to herself or him. She'd had a few visions related to other people.

"No," she said firmly, but would not meet his blue eyes. She brushed away his hands and walked off, leaving him wondering if he should run after her, or if she would just get angry or emotional then. He suspected she was lying though.

At that point, he saw Laman O'del standing with a single bag of belongings, waiting for his transport. Seeing Laman reminded him of something he had discovered last night. Deciding that it was more important than pressing Kaya for the truth, Marka walked up to him quickly. "Jezebel is the 'consumed one'," he blurted out. His last conversation with Never last night had given him certainty about that.

Laman frowned thoughtfully "Are you're sure about this?"

Marka inclined his head.

"Then stay away from her!"

"I can't do that," said Marka, "I know that the prophecy implies that she will kill me, but I made a promise that I would deal with her."

"Its your funeral," said Laman logically, "But before you throw your life away, think of all those who are counting on you. The Jedi order is relying on you, and the whole Republic on the Jedi. Trillions, Marka, trillions. And think of your wife, and daughter."

"That is precisely why I must end her," said Marka heatedly. "Will we stand any chance if she joins with the enemy? As things stand, we will be needing endless miracles to face the Empire, if she continues to damage the Republic in her mad rampage to find Never -Revan- we may as well surrender right now. And if it isn't me, someone else will ultimately have to face her. Do you really think that anybody else will stand a chance if I don't?"

He was raving, he knew. It wasn't like him to act irrationally, but he was incredibly stressed at the moment with both Korgul and Jezebel to worry about, as well as the knowledge that the Sith empire was nearly ready for its invasion. There was something else as well, a threat that he had not discerned yet, but its presence lingered on the edge of his senses.

"It doesn't have to be you who dies," Laman sighed, "Just think about it, promise me that you'll think on it."

"I'll think on it," Marka promised half-heartedly.

He didn't wholly believe in the Grey's prophecy, but he'd be a fool to discard it out of hand because he didn't like what it said. The other man's words though had made a suitable impression on him that he decided not to specifically go after Jezebel, and even to avoid a confrontation with her if he could. But if other Jedi's lives were in direct danger from her, he would not hesitate.

"I never took you for the suicidal type," Laman muttered, "Ah, there's my ship." The small craft was landing on the platform.

Marka shook his hand and wished him well before Laman and three others boarded the vessel. They were going to Talus, where a small academy would be situated. He then looked around for Kaya, but couldn't see her. Bastila was sitting a bit further away, with a small boy he supposed was her and Never's son. Kaya had mentioned to him before that the boy had been staying with a family on Alderaan, she had apparently visited him a few times. Marka though had never seen him before.

"'Morning," said Bastila, standing when he reached her, looking intently at him for a few seconds. Then she seemed to remember herself and said, "Have you met my son Lehon?"

"No," said Marka, wondering what that look had been for. He hadn't met her in the flesh for about three months, perhaps that was it. He bent down to the boy's level, "Hello, Lehon."

"Are you my dad?" the boy blurted out.

Lehon Oneiro was a five year old who looked a lot like his mother, with big blue eyes and a lean face, but Marka could also see his father in him. He did not seem remarkable physically, but Marka could sense the vast Force-potential in him, possibly enough that he would be able to top even his father when he grew older. He was staring at Marka with a serious expression on his face.

"He's your uncle Marka," Bastila laughed, "You know, Auntie Kaya's husband."

Marka was surprised, he had never heard Bastila admitting to her relation to Kaya before. He knew the story, how Bastila's father had had an affair with Kaya's mother, Kaya being the result. Bastila hadn't acknowledged her as her sister, because admitting that would have been admitting to her father's infidelity, and she had loved her father. It seemed though that they were finally getting over their differences. They weren't actually all that different, and under different circumstances Marka was sure they could have got along well.

"Auntie Kaya comes to visit sometimes," said Lehon gleefully. "She brings me treats."

"That's because Auntie Kaya is a kind and generous person," said Bastila, ruffling her son's hair fondly.

Marka took a sharp breath, that was the first time he had heard Bastila say anything nice about his wife. He suspected that it may have been said only for his benefit, or for the boys. Perhaps Bastila simply did not want to impart her prejudices onto her son, especially since if she were killed Kaya would likely be adopting him.

"She is," the boy agreed, then added critically, "She was fat, but now she's thin."

"She had a baby, remember, I told you!" Bastila admonished him.

"I forgot," said Lehon sheepishly. He looked up at Marka, "Do those hurt?"

Marka absently touched the scars on the left side of his face, "Not any more."

"I'm sorry," Bastila apologised for her son.

Marka's eyes softened, "Perfectly alright," he said, and gave a small smile to the boy, who giggled.

Marka then felt Kaya's approach and turned to her, and was surprised by a sudden kiss. Surprised, but pleased.

"Braveheart," she said, breaking off his lips, "Could you watch Lehon a moment, I need to talk to Bastila."

Marka nodded, wondering what Kaya possibly had to say to her half-sister. Probably something along the lines of 'look after him'. He certainly didn't need anybody watching out for him, still it was nice to know that she cared. Mentally he shrugged, he had married her and thereby given her the right to fuss over him. He would have asked Kaya's best friend Banali to do the same thing, but he knew she would do so anyway.

Kaya led Bastila further away, out of earshot. Marka watched them go, noticing again their similarities and differences. The differences were enough that he could only see the family resemblance knowing that they were related. Their faces were a similar shape, and they were of similar build; except that Bastila was a shade taller. They shared similar-coloured eyes, although Bastila's were a more crystalline blue while Kaya's were darker. Their biggest differences were in their hair and complexion. Kaya was mildly tanned, with reddish-brown hair that curled at the base. Bastila was pale, with straight dark hair. They were both beautiful, yet different. Marka though knew who he preferred.

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be watching me?" said Lehon, tugging on Marka's cloak.

Marka smiled, turning his attention to the boy. "So I was." He picked up the boy under the shoulders and hoisted him over his neck. Lehon laughed with delight. "Like to go for a walk?"

"I'm the king, I'm so very very high, in the sky!" cried the boy jubilantly. Marka felt a surge of affection for the child that was so strong it was almost painful. Sadness took hold as well as he realised that he would probably never be able to have a son of his own to hold, it just wouldn't be safe to have another child now for Kaya, she would be too vulnerable pregnant. Only if the Empire was defeated would they be able to.

He now had another reason to win.

--

"I'll miss you," Kaya whispered as she hugged her husband and kissed him one last time.

He smiled indulgently, "I'll be alright, Tenderheart, stop worrying," he told her, "In a few months, I'll be back." His voice lowered so that only she could hear, "And I'll have learned even more tricks to please you." There was an intensity in his eyes that he usually saved for when they were alone. With those parting words, he boarded the O-wing scout, turning back to give her one last smile as he disappeared from view. There was a procession of padawans as Marka's two and Bastila's five followed him.

Bastila was the last to board, she gave her son one final hug. Kaya could clearly see the grief in the other woman's eyes at being torn away from her child, she'd only had the morning with him. Sadness engulfed Kaya, it was the price they all had to play for their role in the Republic's defense; family came second. Perhaps this was why the Jedi had ended up forbidding marriages, leaving their beloved children behind to go and fight the Republic's battles -not knowing if they would return- hurt too much. But it was not a pain that would turn one to the dark side, completely opposite. It was a yearning to see them again and protect their futures that would drive them to far greater feats than they ever might have otherwise, to reach the unreachable, to overcome that which was impossible to overcome. It was this love, and the pain that was its price, that held the Republic's only hope.

Bastila was boarding the vessel when she met Kaya's gaze, and nodded once. Kaya sighed, they had finally come to terms with each other, putting the past behind them. But even if they could have been friends, the path Kaya had set them all on would undoubtedly create a rift between them. The next time they would meet would be many months from now in the Senate; by that time they would have… She shook her head, it was useless to dwell on it. It would happen, she had accepted it. She couldn't help but hope against hope that it wouldn't. But then, if the future did not turn out that way, they would all almost certainly die. Kaya felt like crying.

With a roar, the O-wing's boosters ignited, and it flew straight up. After a few seconds, the craft tilted so that it was facing upwards, and its main engines flared. In seconds it was a speck, then it was gone.

Kaya blinked the tears out of her eyes as she turned to Banali. The two of them and Lehon were the only ones left in the academy. There was a fighter waiting to take the two women, but first they would be taking the boy back to his foster family; and Belaya to her wet nurse. Kaya felt criminal leaving her daughter, who was just over a week old, with another woman. But she didn't have any choice.

"Are you ready?" asked Banali.

"Y-Yes," Kaya replied. She hardened her heart as she focused her mind. She couldn't make any mistakes, not now; not ever. "I am ready."

--

**O-wing, Mid-rim space**

"This is going to be a bit of a squeeze," said Cora, "There are nine of us, and three rooms that can only take two each."

They had been travelling in the hyperspace for a few hours now, and had just started getting settled. The O-wing was meant to be able to accommodate ten, or even twelve at a push. But that involved those inside sleeping in shifts, since there was only enough beds for half the crew. And just because it was designed to hold that many, it did not mean that they were meant to be comfortable.

"Bastila and I will be taking the forward-starboard room," said Marka.

A few of Bastila's students were obviously getting the wrong idea, judging by their facial expressions, so he explained further.

"That room is the only one where the beds fold into the wall, hence there will be at least some space to train." Not enough, but it was the best they could do under the circumstances. "A good portion of the time we aren't sleeping we will be training, and even if Bastila is taking her meditation class I will be training Lydale, Cora or myself in there. It would be impossible for anyone else to share that room."

"Then it's the four boys in the one room and three girls in the other," said Cora, "Easy enough."

"Aah, Marka," Bastila muttered under her breath to him, "Do you really think it's a good idea for us to share a room?"

Marka couldn't see a problem with it, they were both married and he was devoted to his wife, there was no way he would try anything with her. Not that she would let him even if he wanted to, he was sure. Bastila's eyes were worried though.

He attempted a smile, "I'm not that irresistible," he said. But as he turned away, he frowned. Since when did he joke around, especially in that way, with anybody but Kaya?

His thoughts were interrupted by the intercom. "M-Mm-Ma-aa-ar-rr" wavered Lydale's voice, and it was all Marka needed to hear.

With a possibly urgent situation on their hands he needed Bastila to come with him, but time spent explaining could be fatal, so he didn't start. He simply grabbed her hand and led her firmly to the cockpit, ignoring her attempts to pull back and demand an explanation. Cora was following close behind, she knew by now that Lydale's stammering was only induced by shock or stress.

They reached the cockpit, as expected Lydale was waiting for them in the pilots seat with his eyes wide and cheek muscles twitching as though they were going into spasms. Marka had seen the level's of his panic-attacks before, and knew immediately that this one was bad.

"What's happened," "What is it?" Marka and Cora exclaimed together.

"What do you think you are doing?" Bastila shouted at Marka. He ignored her.

"Ta-Ta-Ta-Telos," Lydale stammered, pointing to a distress signal that was flashing across the screen. "Ka-Ka-Ka…"

"Set a course for the Telosian polar academies," Marka ordered, "We're going to save those people."

"Korgul?" said Cora.

Lydale nodded, unable to get the words out of his throat. Marka sighed, there had obviously been an attack. He knew that they should have moved that academy as well, but most on the council had felt that it was hidden and unknown, so moving it would be unnecessary, and he had gone along with that. In hindsight, it should have been moved. But then hindsight was always perfect sight.

"Send an order from me to all Jedi who are currently going to help that they cannot, and must not. The only ones who I will allow to get involved are those who were once true Sith, and only at my discretion. No-one is to attempt any sort of attack until I get there, that includes the army and fleets."

"How dare you," yelled Bastila, her face flushed with anger. She was obviously cross with being dragged into the cockpit. "I am the Jedi Grandmaster, I'm in charge and this is my decision to make. I say we bring in every single Jedi that we can muster, attack as soon as we are able, so we can crush these assassins once and for all."

With that, Marka grabbed her firmly and started silently ushering her out of the room. Bastila started shouting louder, and resisting his pushing. Marka responded by hoisting her over his shoulder, which only served to make her furious. She started trying to physically damage him in any way she could, tooth; fist and nail, while calling him all sorts of interesting names. Marka ignored the looks he got from Bastila's shocked padawans, carried her into the room that they would be sharing, and closed the door firmly before setting her down.

"You, you, you OAF," she accused him, "Mical was right about you! I can't believe I ever…"

She trailed off, her expression no longer angry as much as guarded, leaving Marka wondering what she had been about to say. And what had Mical said about him? Regardless, it was time to establish who was the top-dog before it became an issue.

"When you decided to come with me to inspect the academies, you knew full well that it was my operation and you would be merely tagging along," he told her, healing his minor bruises and scratches while he talked.

"This is an entirely different matter," she hissed. "This has got nothing to do with the inspection. It is irrelevant that…"

"Astin is doing your duties on Coruscant," Marka cut in.

"Yes, but…"

"So your position has been suspended."

"I'm still the Grandmaster!" she all but shrieked.

Marka shook his head, "Even if you were, you have absolutely no knowledge of what you're up against. A rash decision like that could cost hundreds of Jedi's lives."

"They're assassins," said Bastila stubbornly, "If we outnumber them, and fight them in an open field, we would easily overwhelm them."

"You've never fought against the Force-dead before, have you?" said Marka shrewdly.

He summoned a nearby long training staff to his hand when she didn't reply, and swung it at her head. Bastila ducked out of the way easily, and summoned the other staff to her hands when he gestured for her to do so. They traded a few light blows in Shii-cho form.

"You use the Force to predict what will happen, before it does," Marka told her as they clashed weapons. "The Force is a Jedi's strength, your premonition sense means that it would be almost impossible for a non-Force user to beat you. Even if you were to put on a blindfold it would make little difference. However, what happens when that sense is taken away?"

With that, Marka focused himself and created an intricate weave of Force, one that would disable any premonition sense within an area; Bastila being the epicentre of that area. It was large enough that his own sense was also negated, but he had trained to be able to fight without relying on it. His first blow she blocked, but his recoil blow swept the feet out from under her. She rolled to her feet, and rushed at him, but was not fast enough to block his unexpected stab; which sent her bowling over; clutching her chest.

Marka threw his weapon aside, let the weave dissipate, and knelt down beside her. "You cannot sense a Force-dead's actions before they happen. If you had your lightsaber and they a blaster-pistol, unless you were incredibly lucky, they would slaughter you. It would be the same result as non-Jedi using those same weapons, you simply would not be able to predict their shots to block them. And you cannot use the Force on them either, it fades on contact, so there goes your other advantage.

"A Jedi is worse off than a normal person facing them, because they rely on the Force so much, and their fighting style reflects it. Its even worse for one such as you, because you are so much more powerful in the Force than other Jedi you will tend to rely on it even more than others. Most of the Jedi, except perhaps those who served recently in the army," he said, thinking of Cora, "Would be at a loss for what to do, and would be slaughtered."

"Then how?" Bastila wheezed, sitting on the floor. "How can you fight them." She was using the Force to heal herself before she bruised.

"There is a special school of training to be able to fight against those who are Force-dead, and still be able to use the Force to your advantage. That takes months of intensive training to learn, and honestly there is little that can be done. Even most of the true Sith don't bother, only the most powerful or those with special reasons to; do.

"We know nothing of the force we face," he continued, pressing the point home. "It could be just the assassins, but my guess is that they have support. Phantoms never lead an assault, they always hide amongst the ordinary soldiers in battle or snipe, ready to strike down Force-sensitive opponents. Going into battle against a unknown enemy is a very good way to die, Bastila. Didn't you lead armies with your Battle Meditation? I'd have thought you'd have know that."

"Help me up," said Bastila, and Marka took both of her hands and pulled her up. As she came up, Marka could have swore that there was a blush on her cheeks.

"I…spoke out of turn," she began, her face down. "About something I had no knowledge about. I…apologise."

Marka raised her chin with his hand, she was definitely blushing. "And I am sorry if I treated you roughly," he said. "It was the only way I could think of to get my point across."

"I've had worse," she said softly, feeling her chest and wincing. "I probably deserved that for getting so angry."

"It's part of being human, and your humanity is what makes a good Grandmaster," said Marka, feeling that she would probably be needing a compliment at this time. Women, he had found, did even more than men. Especially after being made to feel foolish.

"Thanks; but; err," said Bastila, obviously hinting at something.

Marka then realised then that his hand was still under her chin. He snatched it away a trifle too fast, feeling awkward. A short, uncomfortable silence stretched out between them until Bastila extended her hand.

"Friends?"

Marka did not know if he'd ever had a friend in his life before. His relationships all seemed different to that very simple word. His wife he loved, and he supposed friendship was a part of their relationship, but it went far deeper than that. He had felt the same way about his father, when he'd still been alive. He mentored his two padawans, but that was different. Ramon and him had a mutual respect for each other, but it had never progressed further than that. He felt much the same way about Never, Bastila's husband.

"Agreed," said Marka, taking her hand. He didn't know where this new experience would take him, but he was prepared to find out.

--

**Telos, Polar academy**

The attack had come before dawn.

The guards monitoring the perimeter and guarding the entrances had been killed quickly and silently by the terribly efficient assassins. Then the main army had arrived. They would have made it deep into the compound if Master Yarin had not been taking a stroll at that time, and sounded the alarm. Doing that though had brought all the assassins down on him, he had lasted less than a minute. But his sacrifice had not been in vain, the majority of the students and trainers had been able to evacuate deeper into the mountain, where thick Durasteel doors and multiple traps separated them from their attackers. They had still lost about fifty during all the confusion.

Orrin Ithker stood shivering, not so much because of the chill in the air, but from shock. One moment he had been sleeping peacefully, the next a massive warning siren was rousing him. He had hastily dressed, and ran. His group had run into a forward assault force, and had been forced to fight. The Jedi in the group had been able to cut through the enemy, fortunately there hadn't seemed to be any of the assassins amongst them. Orrin had taken a blaster from one of his fallen foes during the chaos and shot two, by the way they had fallen he was certain he'd killed them. But with so many of them unarmed, inevitably they had taken serious losses. When the enemy had been routed, Orrin's group had all run down to the safety of the deep tunnels. Now he was deeper underground than he had ever been, huddling in a confined space with hundreds of others. Ominous sounds from overhead suggested that the enemy were tunnelling down.

"Who are they?" somebody wailed in despair.

Some of the trapped Jedi and apprentices were getting ready to fight, if need be. Some were meditating, or trying to. Others were staring blankly with shock at the horror of the attack, or crying. Orrin was suffering from shock of a different kind. He had killed. For the first time in his life, he had taken a weapon and extinguished the life in another. It hadn't been some combat-simulator, it had been real. His body seemed unnaturally numb.

"They are the phantoms," replied a cool voice Orrin recognised as Master Brianna's. "They seek to eradicate the Jedi order, we are merely the first they came after. We should have evacuated this academy at the same time as the others."

"The ones I saw were definitely not Force-dead," another argued, "There were hundreds of them. And a lot of them weren't even human. No true Sith force would possibly include non-humans, none of them live in the Empire." Judging from his speech, Orrin reckoned that he was probably one of the ex-Sith trainers.

"True," said Brianna. "My guess is that they hired a large force of mercenaries to compliment their numbers, there's plenty enough of them floating in the Republic. The assassins will be hiding among the mass, ready to strike down any Jedi who fight back, while not presenting an obvious target at the same time. That's how I'd do it."

A thought struck Orrin just as feeling returned to his hands, "Master, what if the aim of this attack wasn't to kill us. What if they're just trying to draw the rest of the Jedi into one massive trap."

Brianna sighed, "It has occurred to me, this region would certainly be one of the best places to execute such a trap, but there is nothing that we can do even if that is the case. All our communications have been cut, and we cannot get out. All we can do is hope."

The grinding, churning, tunnelling sound was growing ever louder.

--

**Telos, Fleet HQ**

Carth Onasi stumbled into his office and sat heavily on his firm, comfortable chair; sighing with relief. It had been a hard day at work, he had been promoting literally hundreds of officers that day in one huge ceremony. With the Republic's fleets growing at such a rate, and his presence as grand admiral required, a massed promotion ceremony had become a necessity every two months or so. He really needed to change the regulations to allow lower level officers to do the promoting, for Sith's sake they were the ones who chose the candidates anyways.

Tapping on a button on the intercom system controller on his desk, he said, "Bring me a strong caffa please, Celest."

"You have a visitor, should I send him in?" his PA replied.

"Who is it?"

"Your son."

Carth immediately sat up straight. Dustil had been based at the other side of the planet, but hadn't been to visit in over three months. "Send him in, and get him a weak caffa with one sweetener."

Dustil came striding in, and Carth stood to greet him. His son looked a bit better than when he had last seen him, at least he didn't bear a resemblance to a corpse. His look was not so much haunted now as driven, the dark rings under his eyes suggested that he still wasn't sleeping properly. His movements were crisp and controlled, speaking of readiness and potential violence. The hardness in his dark eyes was scary.

"Father," said Dustil shortly, as though he were greeting a stranger.

"Dustil," said Carth, itching to hug him or at least shake his hand, but feared being rejected. "I'm glad you came."

"I had to come here to catch my transport, less chance to be followed, if you catch my drift."

Dustil had been training in the polar regions, and with few craft heading out from there into space they could easily be followed. In the city centre of course there would be far more traffic. Carth knew a little about the plan to train students in an unspecified location, but he was unsure as to the details and knew nothing of where it would be. He had only been briefed because Dustil was going. What made it different to all the other hidden academies he did not know, but he did know that there was far more secrecy going into this one than any of the others.

"Sit; sit," said Carth, moving to his own seat. "I'm glad you made it out before the attack," He had been hearing reports about the Telos academy being assaulted by a large hostile force.

"So am I, it happened hours after I left."

"I'm sending a relief force, I know it includes some Jedi, perhaps you…"

"I asked already, I was forbidden." The silence grew between them.

"Aah, caffa." Carth said as his PA came in, breaking the deadlock. He took one of the steaming mugs. "So you took the time to see your old man, eh?"

"Thank you," said Dustil as he took his own mug. "It wasn't my idea to come."

Carth's eyebrows shot up as he took a sip. Lowing his mug, he swallowed and said, "Then whose was it?"

"Master Ramon's," Dustil replied, "We'll be unlikely to have contact with the outside world for perhaps a year, so we were ordered to meet with whatever family we have before we leave."

"You were _ordered_?"

"In my case, yes. I think Master Brianna had a hand in that."

Carth could see what was happening. It was obvious to anyone that met him that Dustil was firmly footed in the dark side, consumed with grief as he was with his wife's death. He was without doubt a Dark Jedi. His rage was directed at the Sith, so he was unlikely to betray the Jedi, but still his conduct couldn't just be conveniently ignored. The Jedi were obviously hoping that some words of fatherly advice would at least make a small difference to him.

_Not very likely, _he thought, _but I can try. Even if I don't owe the Jedi that much, I do owe it to my son._

"Look, Dustil, about Mira…"

"I know how this goes, _father_," Dustil cut him off angrily, "You tell me how I can't stop holding onto the past, and then compare it to what happened between you and mom. Then you give me some sagely advice about how I can't keep all the pain bottled up inside me, I cry on your shoulder and walk away a changed man; that sound about right?"

"Dustil, don't shut me out, you're my only son and I…"

"You know what, I don't care." he said venomously, "I don't care anymore. The only time when I will care is when I find a Sith, and kill it. Maybe when I kill that tall Sith with the red-streaked hair it'll be over, but until then," Dustil set his untouched mug down and made his way to the door. "Goodbye. Thanks for the caffa."

Carth watched him go, not quite believing his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it as the door sealed behind his son.

"May the Force bless you, keep you and guide you. Make its light to shine to upon you, for now, forever," Carth whispered the ancient prayer. Somehow 'May the Force be with you,' did not seem good enough. For the first time in his life, Carth Onasi truly felt old.

--

**Telos orbit, Republic Command Ship the 'Indaba'**

Marka strode from the ships docking bay towards the command deck, flanked by Bastila and Cora. Bastila's padawans and Lydale had stayed aboard the O-wing, it would not do for all of them to crowd on board. Besides, it was most of their sleeping shift. Later they would be able to get a good meal on the command ship, even if the food wasn't better a change of company would probably do them good after two days cooped up together.

Marka's face was the very image of deadliness and chilled focus, all the soldiers that saw him passing moved hurriedly out of their way, whispering to each other in hushed voices. Marka already had a reputation in the Republic, especially amongst the military. They all knew that he was probably the most powerful Jedi, but had until recently had been a high-ranking Sith. So they treated him like a highly intelligent rancor, carefully; and stayed as far away as they could. That was fine by Marka, he hardly wanted them crowding around him, and a certain fear and awe was always useful to cultivate among the majority of your followers; except of course those closest to you.

It was those sorts of emotions that he now had to install onto whoever was the admiral in command of this venture. He certainly hoped it wasn't Onasi. Marka would need to be able to assume at least partial control of all forces if they were to succeed without taking serious damage.

From the reports that he had received, the academies residents were still alive, and slowly moving deeper into the mountains tunnels. But they couldn't possibly last more than a day at the rate they were going, they were running out of space to retreat. The tunnels only went so deep. They had to act now, and Marka had to make this admiral see sense.

He was certain that this attack was a trap. The Telos polar regions were largely untouched, and it would have been possible to land - and conceal - nearly any number of troops and equipment. But he was uncertain as to the size and quality of the forces Korgul had with him, or where they came from. He knew that hundreds had invaded the academy, which suggested that they had even more in reserve, probably they had already set up a defensive perimeter. But he couldn't discount the possibility of them having air support as well.

The three of them reached the command deck, everyone there immediately stood to attention. Cora looked surprised, but Bastila and Marka hardly took notice. They were both more concerned with the Admiral, who was turning to them. Marka relaxed when he saw who it was, and Bastila smiled. It was Lorn.

Lorn was a middle-aged man with slightly grizzled hair. He had been a captain in the Empire, serving under Marka's old Master. But when the Rebellion had begun and his family had been caught in the crossfire, he had begun giving information to the rebels. His family had been killed, and Lorn had been found out. He had escaped, with Lia's help, and sought asylum with Marka. Since then he had proven his worth many times over, and risen to Admiralty in the Republic ranks.

The Admiral smiled as he walked towards them. "Marka, its been a while, hasn't it." he said, smiling broadly. "I've been hearing such stories about you, one would think you're the Republic's greatest celebrity. Bastila, good to see you again." He gave a quizzing look at Cora.

"This is Cora, one of my padawans," Marka introduced her. "I heard that you'd been promoted recently, well done. I am please I am working with you."

"WE are working with you," Bastila growled under her breath.

"We are working with you," Marka amended.

Lorn nodded, "I'm sorry you missed my wedding, I wanted you as my best man."

"I know," Marka sighed, the two of them had been through a lot together and he regretted missing the happy occasion. "I would have liked to have been there, but there never seems to be any time that I'm not needed. I've spent a total two weeks and three days with my wife over the last six months, and all of those times were because I was on Alderaan anyway, I just extended the time I was to be there slightly. How is Lia anyway?"

"Pregnant," said Lorn proudly, "and promoted. She's been made captain of the 'Jaeger', my old ship, but that was largely because there was no one else besides me who knew the ship well enough to captain it." He sighed and added, "The grand admiral was not impressed, on both accounts."

"Has Carth been on your case again?" Bastila demanded.

Lorn nodded, grimacing.

"I'll talk to him," she promised, "he'll listen to me."

"I'd appreciate it."

For some reason, Grand Admiral Onasi had a personal vendetta against Lorn, nobody was quite sure why. But it was obvious that he had been contending for Lia's affections, and was bitter about her choosing Lorn over him. Even still, Carth was basically a rational man, it was unlike him to harbour such bitterness over just jealousy, there was probably something else bothering him. Marka could even have liked him, but for him and Lorn being at odds. And he went further back with Lorn.

Lorn had moved to the large 3-D map of the planet and its orbit, just behind the bridge. "I have six thousand ships in orbit, twenty-three thousand troops on the surface with two thousand assorted mech's," he gestured at the various points where they were stationed, "There's also eight hundred commandoes, ready to deploy at any time at any part of the battlefield; quite a force in all. I'm worried about this attack though, it seems too easy, trapping the assassin's in the mountain. I think they intend to trap us."

"As do I," Marka agreed, "We'll have to proceed with caution. And I don't think any Jedi should take part in the initial assault. There is a good chance that there will be phantom's hiding among the main force, or hiding in sniping positions, waiting to pick off unsuspecting Jedi."

"The Jedi will have to take part," Lorn cautioned, "This could well be perceived the first battle in the Republic against the Sith Empire, even if it isn't really, and it will attract a lot of publicity. If the Jedi are seen as cowards, those feelings will filter through to the senate. You will lose your influence there, and more importantly; your funding. Then you will truly be in trouble."

Marka made a noise that was halfway between a growl and a sigh. He hated having to wade through murky politics. "Then I shall lead the initial assault, and I'll allow the Jedi with the appropriate training to take part in the next waves. There won't be many of us, but at least we'll be visible."

"Are you mad?" Bastila yelled, "Have you got a death wish? All the phantom's will be wanting to get you, and there's a good chance Korgul is there. He kills Sith Masters, you stand no better chance then they did. And all of them are dead!"

"I am currently the most famous Jedi, except possibly for you, Bastila."

He wasn't being arrogant. Ever since he had arrived in the Republic, holo-net had been playing the story of him and Kaya; and how they had turned an entire Sith academy to the light side of the Force, finally escaping the wrath of the Empire. It had made all involved into instant celebrities, Marka being the leader had received the most attention.

"The fact that I am taking part would probably make the public overlook the fact that so few Jedi are involved," he continued, "I am also the best trained for this sort-of venture. The prophecy said that I'd stand against the consumed one, I can't do that if I die today. So if its true, I must survive."

"What prophecy?" said Bastila suspiciously. Lorn and Cora also gave him confused looks.

"I'll explain some other time. Do you have a private room where I can contact someone on a secure line?"

"Kaya? No problem, second door on the right," said Lorn.

Actually Marka intended to contact Never, but didn't want Bastila to know about it. Both of them had agreed that knowledge of their contact had to be kept from her until Never was ready to return to her, otherwise it would simply put her under unnecessary emotional strain. Never received his call, he was already on his way, and the two spoke at length for a few minutes.

"Lorn, do you have a battle plan?" said Marka when he returned to the bridge.

"Yes," said the other man, "Its all explained here."

Marka looked over it, "Impressive," he concluded, "Is everybody ready?"

"We can begin immediately."

"Then let it begin."

--

A/N: That is IT. NO MORE FLUFF except to lead to action scenes and provide a break from them. I think I've done enough character, scene and relationship building. Seriously, it was beginning to drive me nuts. Star Wars has to have action, the way I see it. Now we finally get to see the Republic in action.


	6. Cold Conflict

A/N: All 24 phantoms are ranked according to letters of the greek alphabet, and are referred to as such.

**Star Wars: The Dark Empire**

**Episode 2 - Jenesis**

**Part 6 - Cold Conflict**

**Telos, Polar Reaches**

Marka ran awkwardly. The large plates strapped to the bottom of his artificial feet forced him to waddle slightly as he ran, but they were necessary if he didn't want to sink waist deep into the snow. It was small consolation that all of the seven thousand soldiers following him were in the same predicament, and any enemies they faced would be having similar problems.

The army had run the last ten kilometres to avoid detection before their attack. Sure, the enemy would be waiting in readiness; but there was a huge difference between an enemy ready and waiting for an attack and one that was straining on his sights for the final seconds before you became visible. They had taken enough precautions to prevent the enemy from sensing them easily, probably now they were only sensing the main army moving slowly from drop zone ten kilometres away.

Marka had changed from his usual Jedi robes into a soldiers white winter suit. But instead of wearing their standard armour that went with it, he wore a more flexible custom cuirass, designed to accommodate for his acrobatic movement. It probably wouldn't be much protection against the assassin's 'Bystander' sniper rifles, but it could still save him if he were hit by small arms fire. It wouldn't be any barrier at all to a lightsaber. He carried only his choice weapon, his white-cored, purple rimmed, double-bladed lightsaber. He had made a few adjustments on it over the last few months, making it marginally more powerful and lighter.

He had his senses fully in tune, as he only ever had them in a combat situation. Today he was expending far more energy on them than he normally would, he had to be ready for surprise attacks from phantoms. It was those senses, not all the high tech sensor equipment that the army carried, that told him when they were almost upon the enemy lines. Apparently they also had been taking precautions to prevent detection. Marka signalled to his small army to form up.

The soldiers formed a skirmish formation with practised ease. Riflemen, who where the majority formed the mainstay of the force, and were in groups of ten. A few Snipers, working in pairs of a shooter and spotter, were ready to deploy at the back of the force. Plasma troops were at the front, working in trios, their numbers were around a quarter of that of the number of riflemen. At Marka's next signal, they began to jog forward, carefully holding formation. Officers organised their soldiers in groups, giving orders silently through hand signals. Marka had moved back to the front of the riflemen's ranks, it wasn't a good idea to get in the way of a plasma-hose.

The enemy had dug in, and were sheltering in a series of trenches and bunkers. They spotted the Republic's forces coming, but only when the front ranks were less than a hundred meters away. A few shots started being fired, and the plasma troops started sprinting forward while the riflemen behind them either followed their example or started returning fire. The snipers were starting to deploy, choosing elevated positions, and were lining up their weapons for their first shots.

Marka felt a gun about to be fired at him, and in one smooth motion ignited his weapon and sent the shot back to its sender. Two more immediately followed, the defenders were obviously prioritising the killing of Jedi over the ordinary soldiers. Too bad he was the only one. He deflected one shot high into the air, and dodged the other; aware that he probably would be attracting some phantom's notice before long.

Sure enough, nine kilometres away, halfway up the mountain on the edge of a cliff; a phantom was lining up his telescopic sights. The white-purple blade shone out like a beacon on the battlefield, drawing him to his target. He squinted, and squeezed the trigger.

A soldier was running in front of Marka when the high powered laser bolt lanced straight through him, armour and all, before striking Marka low on the chest and dissipating on his armour. Marka hadn't sensed it, he reacted instantly, leaping into a low dip in the snow so that other enemies wouldn't be able to target him. The assassin though, who was obviously firing from an elevated position, should still be able to aim at his upper parts. He was lucky to be alive, the rifle they used was powerful. Tracing back the trajectory of the shot with his highly in-tune Force senses, he found a patch of ground on the far-away mountain with a suspiciously man-sized area that he couldn't sense at all. He instantly wrapped his senses around the sniper rifle that the phantom was carrying, with particular focus on the point where the trigger was.

He wasn't a moment too soon. The other man was already squeezing the trigger, in a moment the shot would leave his rifle and bury itself in Marka's chest, and this time there wouldn't be any unfortunate soldier to bear the brunt of the rifles power. Marka didn't feel any fear, only cold focus. As the assassin squinted again, he measured the exact trajectory of the shot, and moved his lightsaber with one hand to block. In a split second, the shot left the rifle and travelled nine kilometres; rebounded against Marka's lightsaber, and blazed back to bury itself into the snow fifty meters above the assassins head. It shifted the fragile balance the snow had on the steep slope, and started it moving, picking up more as it surged along.

The phantom was about to fire his third shot when the rumbling alerted him. He turned just in time to see the avalanche almost on top of him, then it hit. He was caught in it, and pushed almost immediately off the cliff top. With desperate agility he managed to grab onto a protruding rock, and hung for his life as the snow sprayed over his head. His rifle clattered on the jagged rocks far below.

Marka raised himself off the snow, and used the Force to enhance his vision; scanning the mountain. The small avalanche had subsided, and the phantom was now hanging almost comically from an outstretched rock. He took the dead soldiers rifle -the one who had inadvertently saved his life- and aimed, judging carefully the trajectory before squeezing the trigger. The phantom was hit squarely between the shoulder blades, he lost his grip on the rock and fell hundreds of meters before vanishing from sight. Marka's eyes narrowed in satisfaction, one less phantom to harry the Jedi.

The plasma troops who had survived the run over the dead ground were now on top of the enemy, and were unleashing jets of burning plasma. Men were screaming like only one burning to death can scream. The returning fire slackened noticeably as the plasma troops smoked out the bunkers and trenches. Steam from the melting snow created a huge fog-bank, making vision impossible beyond twenty meters. That was to Marka's advantage, if there were any more assassins sniping from the mountain they would find it impossible to target him. He realised that it would be a favourable tactic for the Republic, if not a preconceived one.

Meanwhile the shooting was slackening off, the remaining defenders quickly giving up the fight. The Republic forces were readily accepting their surrender, disarming them and strapping them tightly with Durasteel cuffs. That would change, Marka knew, as soon as the soldiers got used to the idea that they were on the losing side. Then would be difficult, if not impossible to prevent atrocities. He shrugged, it wasn't an issue yet. What was an issue was that the enemy forces makeup wasn't mercenaries, most seemed to be civilians of various races given weapons and rudimentary training. Korgul somehow had armed allies in the Republic.

He walked around the battlefield, exchanging a few words of encouragement with his surviving soldiers. They all smiled when he stopped to talk to them. It wasn't something that he normally did, Lorn though had suggest that a little encouragement to his men went a long way. Marka had listened to him, the other man had far more experience than he. He had only served as a field commander on a few occasions in the Sith Empire, and only ever in mock battles. It was his first real battle, short as it had been, unless he counted the attack on the Sedan academy; but that had just been chaos. Marka then checked on the wounded, there were well over a thousand needing medical attention from both sides. Other Jedi might have used the Force to heal a few of them, but Marka knew the fight was far from over, and couldn't afford to tire himself more than necessary. Perhaps when the fighting was over he would do what he could, healing was not one of his best abilities.

Officers came to him to account for their losses, and Lt. Colonel Waldis gave him a final tally. In the few minutes of fighting, they had lost 435 men with 908 wounded. 52 of them were most likely to die, and 197 would likely never fight again. The enemy had lost around 700, with 600 wounded and 1200 captured. Marka quickly worked out that they still had about 5700 men fighting fit, and with 1300 casualties for 2500 enemy out of action it wasn't a bad days work. Especially since they had been attacking an enemy strongpoint.

"Marshal Cabanic, we're picking up multiple signals of hostile forces approaching," panted a kiffar lieutenant, after running up to him. He was wearing a complex communication array on his back which would encode and decode messages sent and received. The codes were there so that the enemy were prevented from listening in on the Republic fleets warnings and commands, at least until they had spent hours decoding them, by which time it wouldn't matter. He was also linked up to their mobile sensor array that had been set up at their drop point.

Since when had he become a marshal? Regardless, this proved that the enemy had been anticipating their attack. Moreover, they had been counting on it. "How many?" he said calmly, trying to portray an image of confidence in front of his tired and worried officers.

"Over ten thousand, sir."

Marka tightened his jaw, the Lt. Colonel nearby started swearing. If the enemy had been detected it meant that they were supported by armour, among his force they had precious little to take on war-Mech's. With that number of enemies, they were up against far more than they had initially anticipated. At best Korgul had only the support of a single planet, at worst he controlled an entire faction in the Republic. With a war with the true Sith looming, this could be potentially devastating. Whoever they were, they had to be subdued quickly. The Republic couldn't fight a war on two fronts.

"Call in the second wave, tell Kaah to move as quickly as possible," Marka ordered, "and the third wave must get ready for immediate deployment, we may need them as well."

The enemy hostiles had begun to fire at range into the mist, creating streaking and flashing lights across it. Casualties were few, for they couldn't see their targets. Marka ordered his men into the trenches, which most of them were already in, and warned them not to fire until they could see their targets. It was now a case of how long they could hold out, without any heavy equipment they would be likely pulverised until the second wave arrived. That could be a good ten minutes.

Ten minutes of death.

--

**The Indaba, Telos orbit**

"Admiral, we're receiving multiple contacts coming out of hyperspace," said the man at the sensor station on the bridge.

"Hostiles?" Lorn asked.

"Probably, sir, they don't match the signals of any of our ships. They will be arriving in about fifteen minutes."

"How many?"

"Around five thousand. They don't seem to have more than a handful of capital ships though, sir."

Lorn smiled, that was good news for the Republic, if they were indeed hostiles. The timing was right certainly, coming straight after the first contact on land. Lorn wouldn't be surprised if this was only a part of a much larger fleet, which could be potentially devastating for them.

"Send a message to the grand admiral informing him of our situation," he ordered, "And give those commandoes landing orders."

By landing the commandoes now they would lose their tactical advantage of being able to be deployed behind enemy lines, but to keep them with the fleet with a space-battle immanent was worse than foolishness. Marka's army would suffer, but there was nothing else that Lorn could do. When the space-battle was in progress there could be no support coming from above, nor suggestions on possible tactics. Bastila would have to shift her Battle Meditation to the space-battle, the ground forces would truly be on their own.

Lorn walked quickly from the bridge to the small room nearby where Bastila was meditating. He put his hand on her shoulder, she stopped and opened her eyes. He then started explaining the situation to her.

--

Bastila tried to look at the situation rationally. With six thousand ships against five, the fleet was in a much more dangerous situation than the army, especially since more enemies could hyperspace in at any moment and they had no reinforcements in the system. Also they could not rebuild ships nearly as quickly as they could train more soldiers. Even still, shifting her Battle Meditation to the fleet would be making Marka's forces far more vulnerable, and they were currently badly outnumbered and outgunned until reinforcements arrived. She felt like she was betraying him, withdrawing her support against Korgul. Admittingly if the two of them got involved in a duel her Battle Meditation wouldn't make any difference. The ability did not affect Force-users for some reason, and would almost certainly not affect the Force-dead either.

The Battle Meditation technique had the potential to turn battles around, and through that change the outcome of wars. It was uncanny how similar it was to what would happen when soldiers were led into battle by a Jedi, except over a much larger area. Some Jedi masters who had studied the ability had concluded that it was nothing more than a powerful extension of a Force-sensitive's natural ability to inspire others.

Bastila though had shattered that theory. Her Battle Meditation had been different to any of the previous users. It had the normal effect of inspiring allies and dispiriting enemies, but what made her brand of it unique was firstly how much more powerful the inspiration was than any previous one, and secondly because it created a subconscious connection between all allied forces. This would allow them to work in perfect unison, while also drawing on each other's skill and experience. In short, Bastila's Battle Meditation was far more powerful than any that had been seen before. Perhaps it was something more.

Bastila had an idea. Although her apprentices were not nearly competent in the technique, surely if all of them tried to use it at once if would have some effect. It would not be as good as her own efforts, but it was better than nothing, and could well save the ground forces from annihilation.

All she had to do was contact them. They couldn't have gone far.

--

**Telos, Polar reaches, Jedi Academy**

"Did you confirm?"

"I did, Master, Epsilon is dead. Killed by the traitor. Sigma is still on the mountain, but she says its impossible to get a shot with the fog bank created by the evaporated snow. Until they move, she is blind." The speaker was Alpha, first of the phantoms. He was the paragon of their group, but nowhere near Korgul's power, who he served as his right hand man.

Korgul nodded, "It would have been a shame if he had fallen so easily, I doubt many of the other Jedi are going to put up much of a fight."

"Master, if lots of dem Jedi comin', our forces 'll need us'en help," said towering Gamma, " Tis perfect time to pick off da stronga membas of da orda."

Alpha wheeled around angrily, "Do you really think that Marka would not have thought of that? Haven't you studied his file? If it had been anyone else in charge, possibly they wouldn't. Marka though knows what to do, he'll only be taking his old comrades with him, ones who know Force-tricks that put them on par against us. He will be wanting us to come, so that he use his expendable soldiers to pick us off. We'd be playing right into his hand."

Korgul smiled, "True, but this is still an opportunity to kill him. Gamma, since you're so keen, choose five others and join the next wave. Though I doubt any of you will succeed, my offer stands. The one who brings me Marka's head I'll promote to Alpha."

"And if I get him?" said Alpha.

Korgul didn't reply.

--

**Telos, Polar reaches**

With his force outnumbered and outgunned, Marka had expected them to falter despite all his efforts. It was only natural, when facing an opponent with superior firepower. But to his surprise, they had managed not only to hold the line, but push the enemy back. He had been in the thick of the fighting the entire time, constantly urging the his men forward, immune to enemy fire with to his powerful premonition sense and lightsaber.

Mentally he went over all the things that had given them enough of an advantage to advance. They'd had the defensive position, but since the bunkers were all pointing the other way they had only been able to use the trenches; the bunkers had served as shelters for the wounded and prisoners. The enemy's numbers advantage had been largely negated by the Republics soldiers' superior training, even though it was nearly two to one. Probably the single most influential factor had been the plasma soldiers constantly reinforcing the fog bank, it forced all the enemy's heavy equipment to either fire blind or come in close, where high-explosive grenades could take care of them. It also kept Marka safe from more snipers, free to use his lightsaber and Force abilities.

But there was something else, Marka knew. When the enemy had attacked initially, the Republic forces coordination had been perfect. The enemy's formation had flopped almost as soon as they had reached the trenches. Now the difference was far less pronounced, but there did still seem to be an unnatural aura in the air. Marka had never felt anything like it before. What was it?

Another wave of enemies had joined the enemy force, strengthening their numbers and resolve. With the fresh troops, they starting to force the heavily outnumbered Republic force back. Shortly after they had arrived on the scene though, the second wave of Republic soldiers came. They had included in their number five Jedi, four of them leading quarters of the small army, Jedi Master Kaah Ohtok in overall command. The second wave was their main force, nine thousand soldiers supported by mechs and equipment of all shapes and sizes. Now fighting on even terms with the enemy, the Republic soldiers' better morale and training were again showing, and the enemy were pushed out of the trenches and held back. For a while the two armies strained against each other, refusing to budge, like two giants of immense power.

A small anti-personal mech was harrying some of his soldiers nearby, Marka briefly considered using the Force to destroy it, he knew the techniques, then thought better of it. As a rule, using the Force to kill opponents drained the Force-user far more than using a lightsaber. Instead he ran at it, deflecting lasers as he went. The mech tried to face him, but Marka reached it first. His first slash severed its twin barrels, the recoil cut through the armour plating and into the pilot. He heard a muffled scream from inside that stopped almost as soon as his lightsaber exited.

Marka then charged down a large group of enemy soldiers, there must have been about fifty of them in total. Kaah, who was fighting nearby, ran to join him. The soldiers shot at them, threw grenades, one even tried throwing his sword. Nothing made any difference, the lasers were rebounded back, and the grenades changed direction mid-flight to explode at the soldiers neck levels. The sword missed. Seeing that their ranged weapons hadn't worked, many drew their swords and moved into fighting position. But they were facing a master swordsman and a master swordsman in training, their lives wouldn't have been any shorter had they simply stood still and waited for death.

"Good to see you haven't lost your touch," Kaah shouted as he butchered three men in a second, his deep-sea blue double-bladed lightsaber moving perfectly to block, maim and kill. He seemed exhilarated, much like most of the Republic soldiers.

Another man might have grinned and retorted, not Marka. He merely shrugged and returned to the business of death. He held no place for emotions or small talk on the battlefield.

The enemy's resolve did not last, especially when the ex-Sith Jedi began blasting groups of them with lightning, they started trying to conduct a clumsy retreat. A command from Marka though sent the Republic forces surging onto them with renewed vigour, and the retreat collapsed into a running riot. The Republic followed hot on their heels, cutting down stragglers and pouring shots into the fleeing enemy. Groups of them were simply stopping and giving up.

The Jedi took up fallen rifles at Marka's order and joined the soldiers in chasing the rout, they were leaving the relative safety of the fog-bank and there was still a chance of other phantoms sniping from the mountain, since they were all in winter uniform like the soldiers there was no way to differentiate the Jedi from the ordinary soldiers without ignited lightsabers. And the snipers would not want to give away their position by shooting at random soldiers, if they did: so much the better.

At the foot of the mountain, yet another army was waiting for them, one as big as the combined armies that they had just faced; and growing due to the runners joining their lines. Marka sensed something different about them, and after a moment of identifying it was certain that there were Force-dead among them. He had little sense of where or how many they were, but quickly estimated their numbers as more than one and less than ten. Marka quickly ordered the Jedi to hide themselves in the ranks of riflemen, and not activate their lightsabers until a new fog-bank was up, unless it became absolutely necessary. Then he warned them of the danger. Some had sensed it already.

The soldiers quickly formed skirmish lines again at his command, their numbers now included some mechs as well. The few remaining plasma troops stayed in front, melting patches of snow to create more mist. Marka wondered briefly if anyone had ever used a similar tactic before. Although the haze would quickly make their snipers all but ineffective, it was by and large to the Republic's benefit. While they did have some mechs, the enemy's far outnumbered them, and had larger and more powerful ones. By forcing them to fight at closer range it reduced a lot of that advantage, and would render all enemy artillery fire as dangerous to both sides as soon as the lines met. It also made the Jedi far safer from phantom attacks, forcing them to attack at close range where the Jedi would have the advantage.

The Republic forces had to endure a storm of fire from the longer-ranged enemy mechs before they reached them, nearly a third of their mechs and over five hundred soldiers were dead or out of commission by then. The mist hadn't been thick enough to obscure their aim. When the two lines met though, it started to build up quickly with the plasma soldiers stayed at the back of the lines melting snow, quickly making visibility at range more and more difficult. Marka fought like a soldier with a rifle, albeit one that rolled out of the way of incoming shots like he sensed them before they happened. When the fog grew thick enough that no-one would be able to snipe him, he dropped the rifle and reverted back to his lightsaber. He had to draw out the phantoms, they all had to be killed sooner or later.

He didn't attract the attention of a phantom, he did however draw the concentrated fire of all enemies in the immediate vicinity. Spinning his lightsaber so fast that it appeared to be a circle while moving it side to side, he was just able to defend properly against the dozens of shots coming at him every second by making slight adjustments in his speed; ones so miniscule that few would even be able to notice. Some tried to blast him with grenades, but grenades were dangerous things to use against a Force-user who could send them right back at you. But when he sensed a Mech about to unleash its flamethrower on him, he knew it was time to move. To stop fire with the Force was incredibly difficult, which was why the Sith had a whole repertoire of Pyro Force powers. He gave a double roll to his left, coming up behind a crop of rocks as the Mech's weapon incinerated the area where he had been. Two Republic soldiers got caught in the jet, and were lit up like torches. They both screamed and dropped to the ground, trying to roll the flames out in the snow.

The kiffar communications officer found him behind the rocks, "Marshal, the commandoes are on their way, they should be here in a few minutes. With bandits approaching the fleet they couldn't stay any longer. They are suggesting that they simply land behind our force and reinforcing us."

Marka thought about it. Certainly that option was safe, commandoes didn't have any heavy equipment to engage the enemies so a flanking manoeuvre would be a waste of good men, similarly a pincer movement wouldn't work. He couldn't hope to land them behind the enemy and strike their back because the mountain was in the way. But the commandoes were elite light troops, to use them in the main battle would be to waste their skills in a situation where they would be no more useful than ordinary soldiers. The best idea would be for them to attack the academy, but Marka had to lead that attack; both to make sure it succeeded and because of the publicity involved. But how to get in there with them? Then a plan came to him, and his eyes narrowed shrewdly.

"Tell them to make one of the craft to fly ahead of the others, they're going to be picking up a passenger."

"Sir," said the officer dubiously, "You should know, those landing craft are incapable of opening for others until they've ejected the commandoes inside, you can't…"

"Just give the order," Marka cut him off. The other looked at him doubtfully, but did as he was ordered.

Marka found Kaah quickly, and told him to take over command. The purple twi'lek listened to his plan, agreed with it, and wished him well. Then he embraced Marka, who wasn't quite sure how to react for a moment, then gripped the other back before releasing and moving off. He had never found it easy to display affection to another, especially another man. It didn't help that he still wasn't comfortable around non-human races, it came from growing up without any exposure to them.

Marka moved to the back of the lines where the fog was thinner, just in time to see one of the commandoes' landing craft come into sight. He raised his lightsaber and ignited it, it would serve as a landing beacon. Fortunately the fog-bank blocked off the enemy forces from sight, no one would be able to target him through it. The craft came down quickly, and landed in front of him with a _tsseeewww-VOOF_. The heat from its atmospheric entry was melting the snow around it. Marka removed the plates from under his feet and his boots, and climbed on top of it. It was fortunate that his feet had been replaced by Mandalorian iron ones, their claws gave him far better grip on the smooth metallic surface. He still had to use the Force to protect himself heavily though, metal was a notoriously good conductor of heat.

"By all that is holy, what do you think you are doing?" cried a medic who was treating the wounded nearby.

Marka drew his lightsaber, and judging a position just behind the slight bump for the cockpit; which would serve as a windbreak; began to cut some notches. "Since I can't get inside, I'm going to ride this thing up the mountain," he said, in a distracted tone.

"You're mad! Do you have any idea what sort of forces will be pulling against you, the acceleration? Even if you could hold on, which is impossible, the cold will freeze your back half while the heat of the craft will fry the other. You could easily call up a transport shuttle from the landing zone."

"For a start, you address me as Master Jedi or sir. It would take too long to call up one. But more importantly, those things are far too easily shot down. Only the commandoes' craft are made to be able to evade and withstand heavy enemy fire." He judged where his feet would go, and cut notches there as well.

Just as he was about to lie down, the medic said, "Why do you even have to lead them? Are you that desperate to kill yourself…sir."

Marka thought for a moment, "Securing entry to the academy is the highest priority of this battle. I have to make sure we win, or all could be lost. If we lose the Telosian students, the Jedi will never be able to recover." He lay down on the craft, pushing his hands and feet into the notches he had made and shielding his body from the heat. "Signal to the pilot that he can take off," he shouted.

A few seconds later, he felt a lurch as the craft began to rise. He gripped on tightly and dug the claws on his feet into the metal. Then with a another lurch, the craft shot forward, beginning its massive acceleration.

Marka had known that it would be hard to stay on, he just hadn't expected it to be quite so hard. Although he had a small windbreak in front of him, the air pressure against his body felt in the region of a ton. The constant cold spray threatened to freeze him, he had to shield against it while protecting himself from the crafts heat at the same time. He was using the remainder of his Force-power to reinforce his strength, which was waning fast under incredible strain. No ordinary man could have survived such a feat.

Marka though was no ordinary man. He was trained to the pinnacle of combat efficiency, and wielded great strength in the Force. After few seconds of flying, his craft started buckling as the air shook with explosions. Marka didn't need to look to know that they were being shot at, not that he'd be able to look anyway. The craft began to manoeuvre, firing its lasers and rockets back, making gripping on even more difficult. His rock-hard corded muscles bulged as he gripped even tighter. Twice the vessel rolled, at one point another craft above them was hit in the engines and exploded in a huge fireball. Bits of it flew off, one large piece came whizzing his way and managed to penetrate Marka's craft's shields, burying itself into the armour between his opened legs. Marka resisted the urge to shudder, if that had come just a little bit higher…

In twenty seconds, it was over, the craft's acceleration was slowing. Marka though was still in trouble, if the craft slowed down too quickly he would be shot over the front of it. So in the magical moment between accelerating and braking, he spun around on his chest to put his feet where his hands had been and hands where his feet had been, so he was now facing the tail. He had another great test of strength as the craft braked just as fast as it had accelerated. Then, finally, it was all over; and they were lowering to the ground.

Marka prised himself from his perch with difficulty, his muscles felt incredibly strained. But he was alive, and glad of it. He had felt so terribly helpless riding on the craft, he wouldn't be doing that again in a hurry. Nevertheless, he'd made it onto the top of the table-like mountain, the main entrance to the academy. He was aware of fighting happening around them, and tried to get off quickly to join in. By the time that happened though, it was over, the few guards either dead or disarmed. Around him other craft were landing, their commando occupants ejected from hatches in the bottom in seconds.

Marka quickly took full stock of himself, the first thing he checked for was injuries. Aside from strained muscles, there were none, fortunately. Then he checked for his lightsaber, which was still attached to his belt and in perfect order. Then he checked his uniform, which was not.

His front was scorched and melted, not nearly as badly as it would have been without his shielding, but still very noticeable. His back was covered in a thin layer of ice. So much for looking like the rest of the soldiers. Then again, he saw that the commandoes were all wearing a different winter uniform to the standard Republic soldiers, so that idea wouldn't have worked anyway.

Fortunately, the ship he had travelled on had a spare uniform in it that fit him, except for the boots. Marka though could afford to leave his Mandalorian Iron feet bare, now that he was going inside and didn't have to contend with the treacherous snow, it would give him his first chance to use his claws in combat. Stripping off his clothing and armour while shielding himself against the bitter cold, Marka couldn't help but notice how deep the shot that had hit his chest plate had burned in. It disturbed him how close a call it had been. The armour was ruined, so he abandoned it and took up the commandoes flexi-fibre mesh armour. It wasn't quite flexible enough for him, but close enough. While he was changing, the commandoes started to try to force entry through the thick Durasteel entrance doors. Those doors had been designed to withstand exactly such an entry, so the commandoes weren't doing very well; despite their extensive use of explosives.

"Sir, as we were slowing down near to the mountain, someone started shooting at us from the slopes below the top," said the pilot of the craft Marka had been riding, the man who had organised the commando uniform for him. "I wouldn't have mentioned it, except that it was small arms and he seemed to be aiming slightly above where he should be; at you sir."

That was a surprise, Marka hadn't even felt it through the Force. And he certainly should have, if it had been aimed anywhere near him. That meant it could only have been one of the Phantom's. "I presume he missed."

"No sir, both shots were perfect, they'd have hit you for sure. Whoever it was, they're one hell of a shot. But the laser they were using it just wasn't quite powerful enough to take down our forward deflector shields."

Marka pulled on his overcoat, the final piece of the uniform. "Lend me your rifle," he said.

"Don't have one sir," the pilot replied, "I'm a pilot, we only have this here blaster pistol," he tossed it to Marka.

Marka caught it and examined it critically. "It is sufficient," he concluded, and walked towards the edge of the mountain, the side they had come in from.

Marka reached the edge, and let his senses roam below him while adjusting the pistol to give the maximum output. The power cells would take forever to recharge afterwards, so he would only have one shot, but it was the only way it could be guaranteed to kill at long range while cutting through armour. He found what he was looking for not fifty meters below him, perfectly disguised against the snow. The hole in his senses that the phantom created was what gave him away. He looked up just as Marka levelled his pistol, and saw that the he was in fact a she.

"Too late," Marka muttered as she desperately tried to bring her rifle to bear with him, and shot her through the head. She rebounded against the ground, slid off her perch and started rolling and bouncing limply down the slope, crashing into protruding rocks as she picked up speed. Marka turned away, adjusting the pistol back to normal power levels.

He rejoined the commandoes, who were still trying to force open the door. Marka gave the pistol back to the pilot and strode towards the Durasteel door, ordering the commandoes away.

No matter how strong it was, it would not last against a lightsaber.

--

A hundred meters below, Never Oneiro was coming up the hard way, up the side of the mountain. Twenty meters below him, attached to a rope linking them was his padawan Hugas Kamagi. Never had just reached an out-hanging ledge, and pulled himself onto it. Then he stood up and started pulling up Hugas.

Hugas was red-faced and panting when he finally got onto the ledge. "I know we're working to get my fitness up and weight down," he puffed, "but this is going a bit far."

Never grinned, and glanced over the edge. He pulled away quickly, giddy and shaken, it was nearly a kilometre straight down. They had been climbing since before the battle had even begun. The good thing about climbing the sheer edge was that there were no defences set against climbers, only against flying craft. The attackers had obviously felt that nobody would be crazy enough to climb the sheer cliff. But without a craft designed to weather the storm of heavy fire, Never and Hugas had been forced to. Never had rediscovered quickly that he did not like heights, while Hugas had reaffirmed that he did not like extreme exercise.

"I bet your friend Marka took the easy way up," Hugas muttered darkly, and drank some heated water.

"I'm sure he did," Never replied, and reached up for a handhold, and then another. They had to get to the top in time to help Marka. If Korgul was anywhere near as good as his reputation suggested, Marka could not possibly last on his own against him.

--

**Telos orbit  
**

They came in waves. Hundreds upon thousands of fighters, bombers, corvettes and frigates. There were few vessels any larger than frigates, those that there were where all obviously captured or custom-built; all with numerous additions and adjustments. Out of the few capital ships they had, only three were any larger than cruiser-class, and only one of them could be deemed a battleship; it was most likely their flagship. No two large vessels were the same, and even the frigates and corvettes were of far too many different makes. Without a doubt, this was a pirate fleet.

Lorn watched from the command deck of the 'Indaba'. It seemed strange to him that pirate ships would be in such a massed force. It did serve to prove though who was behind the reinforcements Korgul and the phantoms received. Lorn had been in the Republic for less than a year, and was in no way fully in tune with its murky politics and factions, but he knew even without an intelligence report that there was only one criminal faction in the galaxy with enough resources to be capable of amassing such a fleet - the Hutts.

This sequence of events was unfortunate, but not entirely unforeseen. Hutts were slimy gutter leeches, existing only to such the life out of society, and revelling in the losses of others. During the years after the Jedi Civil War their power had grown in leaps and bounds, the growth of their criminal operations only being properly checked now with order being restored in the Republic. The Hutt planets were still officially in the Republic, but in reality they had broken away during the chaos of the Mandalorian wars. They had obviously been made an offer they couldn't refuse by the Sith Empire, much like the Mandalorians before them, and agreed to pursue a war with the Republic.

The Hutts would soon find out how much the Republic had been rebuilt in the months since he had arrived there with Marka and the other ex-Sith. The warnings of the true Sith had awoken a sleeping giant, people had come together, putting aside cultural and racial differences. Businesses and concerned sentients had donated thousands of trillions of credits towards rebuilding. They all knew that their very freedom was at stake, and had pulled out all the stops. The Republics gross product per month had more than doubled in six months. Lorn was confident that they would be able to overcome the Hutt Conglomerate; against the mighty Sith empire though it still was probably a case of too little, too late.

The Republic fleet moved like a massive organism as they followed Lorns orders, every ship turning to face the oncoming enemy. Small, well armoured corvettes and gunship's formed the first line, followed by the frigates. The capital class ships were behind, and lightly armoured; long ranged missile destroyers brought up the rear. Fighters and bombers waited in their hangers for the order to scramble, while their squadron leaders had already been released and wove between the ships, nervously anticipating the battles beginning.

Lorn was watching the monitor that showed both fleets slowly closing in on each other, when a new blip appeared almost precisely between the two of them. By its signature, it was a fighter of some kind. But the pilot could hardly have chosen a worse place to hyperspace into, whatever side they were on.

"Admiral, the pilot is hailing you," called his communications officer.

"Of course he is, put him through at once," Lorn snapped, staring at the vessel through the ships front screen. It was either an enemy trying to negotiate, or a stray Republic fighter that was about to be decimated by long-ranged laser fire. Either way, he had to communicate with them as soon as possible.

The holo-generator sprang to life, and Lorn nearly fainted with shock when he saw who it was. It was Kaya! She smiled and said, "Good to see you again, Lorn, I heard about you and Lia, congratulations."

"Kaya, what are you doing here?" Lorn said in a strangled voice.

"I heard about what was going on, and I wanted to be here for my husband when…"

"KAYA, YOU'VE HYPERSPACED IN FRONT OF A HOSTILE FLEET!"

"Wha…"

"GET OUT OF THERE, NOW!"

Kaya's horrified expression winked out, it was a vision that Lorn would remember chillingly clearly for the rest of his life. Her fighter ignited its engines, and at that moment the enemy fleet seemed to decide to exterminate her, and began to fire. The fighter manoeuvred brilliantly to avoid the long-ranged lasers, but was practically swimming through a sea of bright streaking beams, and there was no way it could have gone into hyperspace. Lorn watched in mute horror, totally powerless as a trio of guided missiles shot home. The first the brilliant pilot managed to dodge, it overshot the fighter and was destroyed by its lasers before it could loop around. The second was partially avoided, and exploded an instant later just to the starboard, tearing the wing off and leaving the fighter lopsided. The third could not miss. It hit the engines, and it exploded in sequence, back to front. Lorn practically fell down onto his chair, his mind struggling to come to terms with what his eyes had just seen. A deadly silence stretched over the bridge of the 'Indaba'.

"Are there any signs of survivors?" Lorn managed to say quietly, staring at the scattered wreckage on the screen. Shock was numbing his mind.

"I'm sorry, sir," replied one of his subordinates, he didn't care which.

"Quite alright," Lorn whispered. The rational part of his mind had known that would be the answer, but he still couldn't help but hope. "Carry on."

How was he going to tell Marka?

--

Blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding just a few meters away from her, Bastila focused her meditation in the room just behind the bridge. She manipulated the Force deftly, creating sinuous weaves that stretched out and covered the entire space between the two fleets. Soon, when they got a little closer together, she would start drawing the inspiration from the enemy, and bolstering the courage of her allies. Once that had been achieved, the second stage of her Battle Meditation would come in, the stage she alone of all the Jedi who had ever used the ability had learned to control. And then the enemy would crumble.

She became aware of an acute feeling of shock coming from the bridge near to her, absently she wondered what it was all about. She would just have to work a little harder with them to get their moral up, and that shouldn't be too difficult once the heat of the battle set in.

--

**Telos, Polar reaches, top of the Academy**

Finally the huge Durasteel door opened as Marka gave a final thrust with his lightsaber, which he had powered to the maximum for this job. The commandoes cheered, and Marka was about to give the order to charge when he felt like an invisible, cold hand had gripped him, causing him to falter. He struggled to decipher why he should be feeling this way, it was though his strength and resolve had been suddenly sapped. He felt for his bond with his wife, hoping that it could give him a boost, but couldn't sense anything. It wasn't uncommon for that to happen, if she was far enough away and shielding her bond with him, it felt as if there were no bond at all. Still, it was odd that she should be shielding herself at this moment when she knew he would be fighting.

Deciding finally that it must be one of Korgul's hidden abilities, weakening his opponents before he faced them, he at last gave the order to attack. The commandoes, who had been watching him doubtfully, sprung into action and charged through the door. At that moment, the enemy opened fire, the commandoes returned fire. Marka could sense the scores of lives go to the Force, and ordered his men to blast the area with grenades. With a flurry of explosions and the ensuing chaos, the commandoes surged forward, Marka at their head.

Somewhere inside was Korgul and his phantoms. Somehow, they all had to be destroyed, for the sake of the survival of the Jedi order. Somebody had to do it, and since Never hadn't shown up yet it had to be him.

It was all up to him.

--


	7. Revealing Truths

Star Wars: The Dark Empire

**Star Wars: The Dark Empire**

**Episode 2 - Jenesis**

**Part 7 - Revealing Truths**

**Coruscant, Chancellors Chambers**

The lock clicked, once, twice, thrice; and the door unlocked. Mical stood up, pocketing his lock picking tools. The lock had been incredibly complex, he never would have been able to get through it had he been without the Force, to figure out how to open it without tripping any of the multiple alarms inside. He stepped inside the room, activating his stealth generator whilst using the Force to dim the soft sounds his footsteps made.

His precautions were very necessary, there was a camera watching from the one corner. It was moving slowly, taking in the whole room every five seconds. Mical had timed his entry so that he wouldn't be caught on tape, yet another advantage of using the Force, he had been able to sense its movement even through the closed door. There was nobody inside the room, and Mical went to work immediately.

He started by disabling the security camera, not so it went off -that would be immediately noticeable- but rather that it played false footage of the room, empty and untouched. Then he searched the room, looking for any clues as to a Sith presence. That was the reason why he was here, Mical strongly suspected a Sith influence in the chancellors box. While Astin Lamar was the one Mical suspected the most, there still was a good chance that it was actually the chancellor or his aide. It was even possible that more than one of them were Sith, all three even could be working together to bring the Republic down. In that situation though, the chancellor's aide would almost certainly be a lackey.

Mical scanned through the records and notes, hoping to find incriminating evidence, or better yet a list of Sith contacts. He was sure that there was still a faction of Sith holding on in the Republic, and his gut told him that this -or these- Sith was their leader. The only sure way kill a serpent was to cut off its head.

After half an hour of searching through the paperwork, Mical had found nothing, except some interesting insights into the chancellor's character. Who would have thought that he found the Byss delegate attractive and his feelings were reciprocated. But even if there were hidden messages there, they were protected by powerful codes, which would take forever to crack. And there was no way to use the Force to detect codes. As a last resort, he searched out the chancellor's desk.

There was the usual clutter: pens, headache medicine, tissues and other assorted items. One thing though caught Mical's eye. It was a jewel, around the size of a lightsaber crystal, but Mical had never seen anything like it before. It was as round as a globe, and seemed to be made up of needle-like splinters of every colour of the rainbow, and had a centre that was cloudy and dark. It wasn't by any means pretty, but it was fascinating. When Mical picked it up and examined it in the light, a jolt of energy ran through his arm, and he gasped. It WAS a lightsaber crystal, and a powerful one. But why on earth would the chancellor need to keep that, even if he was a Sith it seemed unlikely for him to store a crystal in his office.

The presence of the crystal was by no means proof, it could easily be explained away as a mere object of interest. But it raised Mical's suspicions about the chancellor being a Sith. He would have loved to have taken it away to study its properties, but its absence would certainly be noticed. Seeing nothing else of interest he set up the room the way he had found it, hid four bugs in various places, and moved back to the camera. He opened it up, and placed and attached a small device that would allow him to record everything the camera saw.

He would have a lot of explaining to do if this were ever found out, but he had to discover the truth about who really was the Sith in the Chancellor's box.

--

**Telos, Polar reaches**

Kaah Ohtok slashed and killed, his deep blue double-bladed lightsaber singing a song of death. He did not like killing, he abhorred it. But at the same time there was nothing more exhilarating than to be locked in a life and death struggle. Every breath seemed sweeter, knowing that it could be your last; the cold air crisper, the light almost painfully bright.

His old master, Lonna Vash, had told him once that men seemed to tire of sex, drugs, physical sports and loud music sooner than battle. He hadn't believed her at the time, but he had never been in battle then.

The purple twi'lek had been woefully unprepared for his first battle. While he had made short work of the Imperial guards that he fought, as soon as he had faced a Sith he'd been out of his league. The woman had matched him for strength, and had easily eclipsed his speed and skill. He'd been fighting desperately to save his life, and she'd managed to strike off his right lekku. Kaah had known pain then unlike any he'd ever known, and would have been killed an instant after had it no been for Ramon's timely intervention. The ex-Sith had gone on to kill the Sith woman, outclassing her by almost the same token as she had outclassed Kaah.

Now he was ready, ready enough that he was the only Jedi who hadn't once been a Sith allowed in the battle, to potentially face the phantoms. After his return and recovery, Kaah had spent nearly every day training with Ramon, or practising techniques the other had taught him. Ramon was the best swordsman Kaah had ever seen, the other though insisted that Marka and at least thirty Sith in the Empire were better than him. Kaah was now a far better fighter than he had ever been, good enough that if he had to face the Sith woman again he was sure he would win. He had even begun learning the complex Yoshi Ma form, although he still had a long way to go before he would be considered fully competent with it.

The fighting had intensified as the mist thickened, it seemed though that the Republic was winning. It hardly mattered whether they won this battle, they were just drawing out the enemies army so they wouldn't interfere with the rescue operation. Of course, if this battle was the start of a campaign it would greatly help the Republics cause to destroy this army now, rather than having to face it again later.

Kaah spun his blade in deadly arcs, deflecting incoming lasers and cutting into enemy soldiers that came too close. The double-blade gave him no advantage whatsoever against lasers, but as soon as he faced a blade-wielding opponent the difference was incredible. In Kaah's eyes, only fools thought that the single blade was superior to the double. A simple test of pitting a man with a quarterstaff against another with a stave half that length would always have the same result, unless the stave wielder was an accomplished swordsman facing a rookie. There were those who felt that it was potentially dangerous to the wielder, since there was a risk of cutting oneself in half, but with proper training that would never happen. The only weaknesses the double-bladed lightsaber truly had was a larger handle area for the opponent to aim, and its difficulty stabbing. Both of these could be negated by proper footwork and body movement, and control over the blades activation respectively. Kaah doubted that there was any single-bladed wielder that had ever lived who could beat him in a sword-duel, unless of course they could overpower him with the Force.

Kaah had the opportunity to put his skill to use moments later, when a man spotted him through the gloom, and ran at him with two handed sword. Its single edge was slightly curved at the end, razor-sharp. Kaah could only sense his approach by feeling the air movement, the way Ramon had taught him. He had no discernable presence, with exception to the air he displaced. If Kaah shut his eyes he wouldn't even know he was there. This man was undoubtedly Force-dead.

As he reached Kaah, he swung his long blade from the hip with blinding speed. Kaah, who had seen it coming ages before, blocked firmly and shifted his weight; sending a recoil blow at the Phantom. With his double blades, he could block with one side and attack with the other, using his opponents own strength and speed against them. He had to be careful though, he had no premonition sense against this man, so he had to rely on his eyes and sense of the air currents. Although he had the advantage, there was always the element of chance. He would make no mistakes, and finish it fast.

The assassin blocked, and had to dodge Kaah's other blade as it swept in. He stepped backwards, then darted forward, slashing down at Kaah's head. Not fancying the idea of losing another lekku, Kaah went to his knees as he bore the force of the blow. Then, using the Force to fortify his strength, slashed out hard with his other blade. The phantom blocked it, and was driven backwards by its force. He managed to keep his feet though, and glared balefully at him.

Kaah went onto the offensive, spinning his blades around his body so fast that the eye could not keep up; the way Ramon had taught him. With the Force, it was difficult to keep track of an opponents blades when they were doing that. Without the Force it was impossible; meaning that the assassin had no defense against the technique. He tried vainly to attack back with stabs and short cuts, but Kaah checked his attempts with ease. There was no way the other could counter his relentless assault, and although his contortis-woven armour stopped a few of Kaah's blows, it could not take the heat when he turned his lightsaber up to maximum power. He fell with a look of relief on his face, surprising Kaah, who had only ever seen shocked expressions on the dying before.

The battle meanwhile had degenerated into a bloody melee. The lines were no longer drawn, men from both sides were running at each other from all angles, ranged weapons were being shot at almost point-blank range. The fog was now so thick that it was the only way to fight. Kaah was tempted to order his troops to withdraw and then fight in a more visible area. But both forces were fully engaged, and to extract his now would be impossible.

Kaah felt a hint of fear from a Jedi nearby, and ran to help. The five Jedi were maintaining a weak form of Force-bonding between them. It had been prepared in haste, and would likely fade within the next few days. But it gave them the advantage of being able to sense where the others were, they were also able send 'dire peril' pulses to each other over a short range, and could even have a small sense of each others strongest emotions when they were close enough. Kaah wondered why, if he was fearful of what he was facing, why the other Jedi did not send a pulse to alert all the others.

He ran through the fog, it was so thick it was almost solid. Fortunately with his Force-senses he could detect all those in his immediate vicinity with ease, and as he ran he cut down five enemy soldiers and a Mech walker. He came into a small dip, a clearing of fog, he saw no-one around except the ex-Sith Jedi fighting a… suit of armour? Kaah could sense that the person inside was Force-dead, but that was possibly the least unusual thing about him.

The Phantom was in full plate armour, head to toe. The plates were like burnished gold, shining even in the dim light, but the armour was anything but pretty. It consisted of hundreds of interlocking plates, all arranged to facilitate movement, and adorned at the joints with sharp spines. The largest piece was the one that covered his chest, even the armour covering his abdomen consisted of many plates, resembling an eight-muscle pack. His helmet was full faced, and strongly resembled a rancor. No, not a rancor, a terantatek. The spikes on his armour served to enhance the effect. He looked like a diabolical version of the knights who had been lords on Coruscant in its antiquity.

When Kaah compared him to the Jedi he was fighting, he realised how tall he was. The assassin stood over a head taller than his opponent, who wasn't short, and was far more solid; probably weighing more than twice as much. He looked more like a warrior than an assassin. His weapon was the final shock. It was a massive hammer, with a handle almost the length of a spear. It looked heavy and cumbersome. One side of the hammer came in to a point, like half of a square eight-sided crystal. Both ends were spiked. Kaah didn't even know that such weapons could be used in combat.

They could, apparently. And incredibly effectively as well. The Jedi fighting the armoured man had two lightsabers, and was desperately trying to get close enough to use them, while the other was driving him off with great swipes. Judging by the power of those swings, the massive hammer had enough weight that its momentum was impossible to stop with a lightsaber, which was basically a weightless weapon. Conversely, the hammer was also obviously a poor blocker, being too hefty to manoeuvre quickly. Kaah ran in to help the other Jedi.

His presence seemed to distract the phantom enough that the other Jedi was able to close the distance between him and the Phantom, and struck at him. His blows scoured his enemy's armour, but did not penetrate. The Phantom sent him bowling over with the handle of his weapon, and raised it high to finish him off. Thinking quickly, Kaah blasted the fallen Jedi with Force, sending him flying back; just in time. The hammer sunk into wet snow and hard earth, the phantom snarled with anger, and turned on Kaah.

Kaah realised immediately that in this situation, where he couldn't possibly block his opponents weapon, his double blades would be nothing more than a hindrance. So he switched one off. Then he activated his extra-length function, causing his meter long blade to shoot out nearly half a meter more. After that, he rerouted all the extra length that could have been given to his other blade to the one that was active, giving it a further half meter. They were both advances that had come from the Sith empire, and while in many situations they weren't useful, they were well worth the hassle of installing. Now he had a weapon with the range of the phantoms, a single deep-blue blade of nearly two meters.

The Phantom gave a battle roar, and swung low. Kaah turned his lightsaber up to maximum power, another advance taken from the Sith empire, and slashed at him; jumping nimbly over the wild swipe. His strike bit into his opponents abdominal plate, but didn't penetrate. Definitely contortis-woven, and thick too, probably the hammer was as well. The phantom attacked again, giving shorter; faster swings. Kaah dodged, ducked and struck his legs. The phantom's grunt of pain told Kaah that this time he had done at least some damage.

"Yer strong, Jedi," the phantom spat, backing off slightly, "Yer not da one I'm afta, but if I bring yer head, I'll be getting some-a reward."

"Do your worst," Kaah said, his eyes focused.

"Who may I have da pleasure of killing?"

"Kaah Ohtok, Jedi Master and high council member." As soon as he told his name, he wondered if telling the phantom had been the most prudent decision.

"Council memba eh? Definitely get somming. When ya get to da gates-a hell, tell 'em Gamma sent ya."

With that, the phantom charged again, aiming death blows. Kaah sprang over his head, slashing a long cut on his shoulder, again not penetrating. Although he could not predict his opponents moves through the Force, the way the hammer had to be hefted back before it was swung meant that Kaah could accurately predict its trajectory anyway. His Force-enhanced speed was his shield, he moved in Ataru form; which for this situation was ideal. The danger was that he needed time to do sufficient damage to his opponent, in that time another phantom could finish him off, or Gamma could get a lucky shot in and it would all be over.

Then Kaah saw a figure loom behind Gamma, who was advancing menacingly on him. It was the Jedi who he had saved. In an instant he had lunged and hugged himself to the colossal phantom with one arm, and with the other stabbed a lightsaber into his back.

"NOOOOO!" Kaah shouted as Gamma shifted his grip and stabbed the spiked back of his weapon through the Jedi. The other hung on grimly, even as Gamma stabbed him through a second time, blood gushing from the gaping wounds.

Kaah rushed in, slashing and stabbing vengefully. The Phantom's armour again absorbed the strikes, he withdrew his weapon and swung it at Kaah. This time he very nearly hit him, Kaah jumped back but the spike on the end of the hammer left a long shallow scratch on his body-plate. Then the Phantom screamed, and fell to his knees, dropping his weapon. Kaah stared from him to the Jedi still hugging his back, realising that the others lightsaber must have finally burned through the thick contortis-woven plate. Gamma swayed slowly, then pitched forward into the snow with soft _flump_.

Kaah rushed over to the Jedi's side. One look at the wounds and the amount of blood already in the snow, and he knew there was no hope. "Why?" he said, "You didn't have to do that, I could have taken him."

The Jedi coughed weakly, blood running out both sides of his mouth. "One hit, and you'd have lost… his armour… too thick… LOOK OUT!"

Kaah turned just in time to see yet another phantom fire his rifle at point-blank range. The shot ripped though Kaah's armour, body and continued out his back. Kaah stared blankly at fist-sized hole in his mid-abdomen, and slowly sank onto the cold, wet snow. The other Jedi raised himself up, and hurled one of his lightsabers into the luckless phantom, who screamed as it speared his chest and fell twitching to the ground.

Kaah immediately tried to heal himself, but the wound was far too large. All he managed to do was slow the bleeding. He was going to die, the knowledge gave him no fear, just an intense sadness. He had wanted so badly to live, to grow old with his wife, to watch his son grow tall. It was small consolation that his killer had been killed.

"It looks like… we're going together," he said, attempting a smile for the Jedi who was lying next to him.

But the other man was already dead.

--

**Telos, Polar Reaches, Jedi Academy**

**(upper levels)**

Marka had been in some intense combat situations before, but he had never been in one that had so many dying in such a confined space. The commandoes were pushing forward through the narrow passages, the defenders putting up stubborn resistance. Every second step seemed to take him over the dead or wounded, at many places they were piled over each other.

The commandoes had suffered grievous losses, Marka knew that they had already pulled out two hundred wounded, the dead they had left so there was no telling how many there were. They wouldn't have even been able to break through the many defensive checkpoints though if it hadn't been for Marka, his double-bladed lightsaber was large enough to cover the entire passage, and at such close range the laser shots returned by him often hit the shooter.

With the phantoms forced to come at him in a confined space, he'd had a huge advantage. By using his senses to detect all air-displacement while feeling for the enemies Force-presence he could tell if one was coming long before they could get a shot in, simply because displacement without a Force-presence could only be a phantom. Already two of them had paid the price, and neither had come close to killing him. The first Marka had waited for, then ambushed as he had turned a corner. The second had taken a shot at him, but Marka had worked out the exact trajectory of the weapon long before she'd been about to shoot, and sent it right back through her head.

Now they were beginning to come to the larger training rooms deeper in the academy. The enemy tried to put up resistance in some of them, but in a larger areas they suffered far more against the better-trained commandoes. Marka though made sure he didn't come into the cavernous rooms until they had been cleared, there was too much space for the phantoms to come at him from there. He was sure that most of the phantoms were still in the Academy, and were waiting for the opportunity to strike or, if things went wrong, escape. Marka doubted he would be able to stop them all, they were too good at hiding, but every phantom killed now was one less that had to be hunted down later. He estimated that the defenders had already lost in excess of four hundred in the confined passages, Korgul would have to make a move soon or all would be lost for them.

--

**(lower levels)**

Orrin gripped onto his blaster, sweat trickling slowly down his brow despite the cold. More experienced Jedi were clenching their lightsabers, and rhythmically stretching. After two days of putting up with the constant drilling noises, and retreating further and further into the deepest tunnels, the silence with them stopped was oppressive.

"The attack has begun, it's confirmed, they've come to rescue us." The excited whisper was rushing through the crowd.

Orrin wet his lips, he knew what was coming now, they would be attacking back. The strategy was sound, trapping the enemy between the two forces, multiplying their chances of victory. That did not change the fact though that he would be going into combat again, he could die. He'd always thought when he read the heroic saga's in his youth that if he were in a similar situation he would be sublimely brave, like the great heroes. Yet here he was; struggling not to wet himself.

Master Brianna though was ice, so totally focused and determined. Her presence seemed to stiffen the resolve of those around her, even Orrin. He was trying not to let his fear show, he hoped he was being convincing.

"We're ready, Master," one of the surviving guards said as he approached them.

"Good," replied Brianna, "Then let the sequence commence."

Slowly, the massive Durasteel doors began to open. As the one in front of Orrin opened, he saw along the passage dozens of them opening, and in between various traps were disarming. It was those traps and doors that had made progress so hard and painfully slow for the enemy that they had opted rather to dig around them. They had very nearly made it too, there been less then forty meters of rock separating them. Another few hours and they'd have been through.

The ragtag force began to move forward at a steady pace through the wide passage, which went up at a 25 degree angle. The experienced Jedi were in the front with their lightsabers, Orrin was just behind with the guards and students that had picked up laser rifles and pistols. Following them was a large group of brave apprentices who had volunteered to come so they could pick up weapons from the fallen and join the battle. Orrin's friend Gerald was in that group.

The passages incline ahead was raised further, and it seemed to be curving to the left. As they walked quickly up it Orrin realised that it was a spiral, slowly taking them up.

"Orrin, if you like I could take the weapon, and you could hang back," Gerald whispered to him.

He was tempted, Force how he was tempted. But it would not be fair to take advantage of his friends generosity, and besides, he was the superior gunslinger.

"Thanks, but no thanks," he whispered back.

Some of the guards were talking next to him, Orrin couldn't help but pick up part of their conversation; "…good thing that Master Mical had that override system fitted in the lowest levels."

"Uh-huh," another nodded, "Without that, they'd have had control of everything, not just the stuff they spiked. Security doors, traps, droids; they'd have had it all."

Orrin shivered at the thought, imagining what would have happened had the attackers turned their own defences against them.

Seconds later, they ran into a group of enemies, and everything seemed to happen at once. Shots were flying between the groups, the Jedi were charging them down; deflecting shots coming at them. Master Brianna was particularly devastating, leaping immediately into their midst's and swinging her white double-bladed lightsaber with deadly efficiency, killing and defending all at once. Orrin dropped to his knees as he got a clear shot, his first shot was deflected by his targets personal shielding but his second and third hit in the chest. The luckless rodian dropped to his knees, screaming for his mother.

A whirling, hissing sound alerted him; and he ducked just in time as a spinning metal blade shot through the air where his neck had been. He looked around frantically, wondering who in the galaxy would use such a strange projectile weapon. It seemed effective though, there was already a Jedi moaning on the floor with one of the blades lodged in her side and another lying dead with one in his forehead. As Orrin watched, more blades shot towards them, bouncing off the walls until they were buried themselves into the flesh of the living. They probably wouldn't be effective against armour, but in their group only the surviving guards had any.

Whoever was shooting these things, they were doing a lot of damage to them, and since the trained Jedi weren't dodging them like they should, Orrin suspected it was a Force-dead phantom. He had to be dealt with, or more would die. Orrin knew enough about current events to know that while the Jedi order had no shortage of initiates and padawans, they were desperately short of experienced Jedi to train them. Every one they lost was one more than they could afford to lose. He was expendable, they were not.

With that knowledge in mind, Orrin shelved his fear, and charged forward; keeping his body low and firing as he ran. A tall trandosian aiming his rifle at him, Orrin somehow sensed it and rolled forward. The shots missed, and he carried on running. The enemy was a dispersed mass of sentients, but Orrin quickly picked out the phantom. It wasn't his uniform, he had been dressed to resemble the others in the ragtag bunch, but there was something different about him; something Orrin could not put a name to. The projectile-launcher on his arm served to confirm it. Orrin screamed his rage; hate and fear, and charged.

He aimed at the assassin, and fired twice. His shots hit his shoulder, but did not penetrate the armour. The phantom sent a spinning blade back at Orrin reflexively. By chance it hit his blaster, cutting halfway into the firing chamber and disabling it. Orrin cursed as he discarded it, and dived towards a dead mercenary, determined to take his weapon.

Incredibly, mercenary's rifle was code-locked, there was no way Orrin could use it. The only other weapon he had was a Vibrosword. The phantom aimed his arm-mounted blade launcher at him again. Terrified, Orrin pulled sword out of the dead mercenaries scabbard, and moved it in front of his body in a desperate defence. By sheer dumb luck the blade hit the sword, the shock nearly knocked it out of his hands, and rebounded away.

By this point the enemy force had had enough of being cut to pieces by vengeful Jedi, with exception to the phantom none of them had been able to bring a trained one down. They were running to safety of higher up, despite their officers' urgings. The phantom growled with anger, and joined the teeming throng rushing away. In a few seconds he would be gone, free to kill more Jedi. Orrin could not let that happen.

With no other weapon at hand, he threw his sword, willing it with all his soul to hit. Orrin had never before wanted something to happen so badly, never had his mind been so clearly focused. The sword flew like an arrow, streaking forward far faster than any object propelled by human strength should be able to, burying itself up to the hilt in the phantom's back; spearing his heart. He fell forward, propelled by the blades momentum, and lay still as he was trampled by his frantic allies. None even stopped to check if he was dead.

The surviving enemies were soon out of sight, the Jedi and apprentices had not given chase for fear of an ambush. Orrin ran up to the dead phantom, and tried to pull out the sword out. It was wedged in so solidly that he could not budge it an inch, gripped by backplate and cuirass as well as the flesh and bone in-between. Orrin could hardly believe that he had thrown his blade so hard, and was doubly amazed that it hadn't spun. By the laws of basic physics, neither should have been possible.

Master Brianna came up to him, "I saw what you did," she said, "Killing that assassin is an achievement well worthy of recognition. I'll see to it that the council hears of it, they will undoubtedly be impressed by your quick thinking and resourceful use of the Force."

"That was the Force?" Orrin was shocked, he'd barely even felt its presence before.

"You're in the advanced classes, aren't you?" Master Brianna asked.

"I've only been here a week," Orrin replied.

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, it was strange to see on her normally emotionless face.

They were interrupted by a Jedi knight who was asking for instructions of what to do. The Jedi Master excused herself, promising a more in-depth talk after the battle.

As Orrin watched her go, he realised that he was still unarmed, and there were others picking weapons off the dead. The dead phantom had a sniper rifle strapped to his back, Orrin read 'Bystander IV' on the side. He checked it quickly for personalised locks, the rifle had one but it was currently inactive. So he hoisted it around his shoulder, and searched around for more weapons, remembering that Gerald probably still didn't have one. Others had already been looting while he had been talking to Master Brianna, and most of the best ones had already been taken. He still managed to scavenge a pair of blasters.

Finding Gerald afterwards proved more tricky. The group had mixed up in the aftermath of the skirmish, meanwhile the experienced Jedi were trying to sort out the groups again. Orrin couldn't see his friend anywhere, he started asking around, but no-one had seen him.

Then, just as they were getting ready to move off again, he saw him; slumped against a wall with a serrated circular blade lodged deep in his chest just below his neck. Orrin gaped, it couldn't be, it just couldn't. He ran over and started shaking his friends shoulders, as if it could wake him up.

"Come along son," said an older man kindly, taking him by the shoulders and leading him away, "There's nothing you can do for him."

"No," Orrin whimpered uselessly as he allowed himself to be led, tears forming in his eyes. "Why?"

It was the question every man since the beginning of time has asked when a loved one dies. No answer is ever satisfactory.

--

**(mid levels)**

"Stop," Marka ordered, "Something is wrong."

He had been leading a group commandoes though a wide passageway, and had just come into a cavernous room. The room was deserted, but something about the air currents was amiss - he could feel the hairs raise on the back of his neck. Delving deeper, he closed his eyes and focused all his power on the air, not a moment too soon. He felt the whisper of movement, and dived low as a silver lightsaber blade materialised and chopped the space where he had been.

Marka used his hands to flip forward, and came up in combat position with his white-purple; double-bladed lightsaber drawn and ignited, facing where his attack had come from. But there was nothing. What had just happened? The commandoes were terrified, moving their weapons around frantically. He couldn't see anything, couldn't feel anyone's presence other than those he could see. Even his sense of the air currents was distorted by the air's odd movement in the chamber. Doubtlessly this was why the assailant had chosen this place to come at him.

"Don't shoot until you see your target," he warned, and focused again on the air around him. He felt movement, this time it wasn't directed at him. "LOOK OUT!"

The lightsaber appeared again, in the midst's of the commandoes. It cut and sliced, killing and maiming in spirals of death. Two of the commandoes managed to fire at the invisible man who was wielding it, but the lightsaber moved with perfect Jedi grace, and sent their shots back at them. Then it disappeared again, and the commandoes started panicking. Already nine of them were down, and they couldn't even see who they were fighting. They started shooting wildly around, quickly becoming a danger to everyone around, except their attacker.

"CEASE FIRE," Marka roared, "You'll only hurt each other."

It was true, already three had been wounded in the confusion. To their credit, the commandoes obeyed instantly, and moved closer into a solid block formation; all their weapons ready.

"Whoever is doing this, he's after me and me alone," Marka explained calmly, he hated having to raise his voice and could feel the beginnings of a sore throat already, for some reason that was almost impossible to heal with the Force. "You're just in his way. Carry on with the attack, I'll join you later."

Not wanting to be attacked by the invisible man again, the commandoes complied with haste. In less than a minute, they were out of sight. Marka focused his senses on the movements around him, enhancing his natural senses as well. He could smell the alcohol-based disinfectant that the Empire used to treat their skin-tight suits, the assassin was near. He backed towards the wall slowly.

"I know you're here," he said, moving back carefully towards the fire-control chemicals that were built into the wall. He couldn't sense him through the Force, he was Force-dead. But there was only one Force-dead person who used a lightsaber. "Korgul, show yourself!"

Again he felt a whisper of movement in the air in front of him. Without hesitation Marka sent his blade slashing into the thin metal layer that concealed the chemicals used for fire control, and dived out the way. The pressurised chemicals sprayed out with such force that they hit the far wall. They coated the luckless invisible man, foaming up immediately, making his front half look like it was made of snow; while the other came shimmering into sight.

Wasting no time, Marka attacked, knowing that his assassin would be blind with the foam covering his face. Korgul though still succeed in blocked his first slash, locked blades, and pushed Marka back with incredible strength. He ripped off his mask and pulled down his hood in one swift movement, before Marka could attack again. Marka couldn't help but be taken back by the sudden exposure of his blood red irises.

"That was a highly resourceful move," Korgul congratulated him, "Just the sort I would have expected from you, Marka Cabanic. Did you know that you are now listed as the number one enemy of the Sith Empire? You've practically been promoted to Sith Master position. You truly are your fathers son." He seemed perfectly calm, as though he'd never been in any danger at all.

Marka frowned, the last part of what Korgul had said made little sense. His father Harn had been a very mediocre Sith, and an undercover Greys. Nothing Marka had done was remotely similar, he was far more powerful and didn't even look like him. If he had meant that his father would have been proud of him, he had an odd way of saying it. It was interesting though that his infamy was high in the Empire, probably his defeat of Jadan last year had a lot to do with it.

"How did you stop my attack?" Marka asked, "You are Force-dead, there should have been no way. Also with the lasers, only Jedi and Sith can block laser shots."

Marka generally never talked during single combat, it was distracting and pointless. This time though it was different, he needed to find out about his opponents capabilities if he was to stand any chance.

"Luck," replied Korgul, giving nothing away.

Marka did not really need an answer, he could work it out himself. Korgul bore a lightsaber, as opposed to all other phantom's who had contortis-woven weapons. Lightsabers' greatest strength was that they could deflect laser bolts, but that was useless unless the user was capable of sensing the shots before they happened. Korgul had already proven that he could, his ability to block Marka's attack when he should have been blind only confirmed this. There was only one possible conclusion; despite the fact that being Force-dead would make it impossible for him to have any Force-ability, Korgul had some form of a premonition sense. Or something incredibly similar.

Marka clenched his jaw with suppressed horror. It was one thing to face a Sith who could predict your moves, he could do the same right back, so there was no advantage there either way. But he could not sense a Force-deads moves before they happened, the fact that they were cut off from the Force made it impossible. So he couldn't sense Korgul's moves, but the other man to some extent would be able to sense his. It was an incredible advantage, one that would make combat between them like one between a swordsman and a Sith, with Marka being the swordsman. There could be no doubt who would win.

"I see by your expression you've worked it out yourself," said Korgul with an annoyingly superior expression on his face, "I'm taking you in, Marka, we can do this the easy or the hard way. But you do know you have no chance against me."

Even if he didn't, Marka was not one to back down without a fight. He had never lost in single combat, and only one person had ever survived his wrath. He was sure that his double-bladed lightsaber would confer him some advantage, although he did notice that Korgul had a sword hilt sticking out behind his head, the blade hidden inside his uniform. He also knew that some of Korguls victims, generally the more powerful ones, had died of sword cuts as well as lightsaber burns. The prospect of facing two weapons without his premonition sense was terrifying. If Korgul did not hold all the advantages now, he certainly would when he brought the second blade into the fight.

One thing did not make sense to Marka, why did Korgul have a sword instead of second lightsaber? Lightsabers were lighter, more portable, could deflect lasers and cut through almost anything. So why did Korgul go for second best? It was out of character, for Korgul, for anyone who came from the Sith Empire.

Despite everything, Marka knew for sure that Korgul had to die for the Republic to survive. Only Never was his equal in ability, none were greater. Hopefully he would come soon, Marka would need his help if he was to stand any chance. He took a deep breath, and charged.

--

**(outside)**

Never pulled himself up, hooking his leg over and rolling onto the snow. Finally, he had made it up. Slowly he stood up, taking in his surroundings, the landing craft parked there, the commandoes stationed as guards there running to check him out. Never quickly adjusting his hood so that it covered his cheeks, hopefully he would be mistaken for Marka. No matter the confusion it caused, he would be able to talk his way through them, they would not want to risk Marka's displeasure.

"Hey, could I have some help here," came Hugas' pitiful cry from thirty meters below. Never smiled, and started to pull him up.

--

**Telos orbit  
**

The battle was a shambles, Lorn doubted that Bastila's Battle Meditation had even been necessary. The Republic fleet, with its larger ships and superior firepower, had shredded the incoming fighters and bombers as they swooped in initially; they had done little damage. Then the ship-on-ship fighting had begun, and the Republic had outgunned the smaller pirate vessels. The few capital ships they had had been destroyed by the multi-laser cannons mounted on the two 'Archon' class ships in the fleet, the Indaba and the Behemoth .

Finally, to finish them off, Lorn had released his extensive force of fighters, bombers and fighter-bombers. With the enemy fleet already fully engaged, they had been torn apart by this new wave. The trap had snapped shut, there was no escaping for the pirate fleet. They started trying to flee, the Republic gunners aimed at their engines and left them unable to escape. Out of a fleet of 5 000, less than 800 got away into hyperspace.

On board the 'Indaba', a man from the main sensor-control array reported, "Admiral, we have another hostile fleet coming out of hyperspace on the outskirts of the system."

"How many?" Lorn asked immediately. They had about five hundred ships destroyed or out of action as a result of the recent battle, and many more with minor damage that would limit their efficiency. There would be no time for any repairs with this fleet bearing down on them.

"Around four thousand sir. Mostly smaller ships."

It was the same as the last fleet, only less of them. Lorn smiled, even with their losses they would still be able to take them on. It would be another duck shoot.

"Sir, the ground forces report that the battle is not going so well." reported the communications officer, "They're holding out, for now. But its only a matter of time. And the Jedi in charge is badly wounded, likely to die."

"Who, Marka?" His chest constricted in sudden fear.

"No sir, apparently he joined the commandoes in assaulting the academy. The Jedi left in charge of the army was Kaah Ohtok."

Lorn wondered briefly how Marka had managed to join the commandoes in their assault, but put it out of his mind. The man seemed achieve the impossible as a matter of course. He knew that the loss of Kaah would be a blow to the Jedi, but there was little he could do except organise a shuttle to pick up the wounded. But even that wouldn't be safe with another space battle looming.

"Any word from the commandoes?" he asked.

"No sir, nothing."

Lorn sighed. Somewhere inside that academy was Korgul Juglur, who had been sent specifically to end Marka and the re-formed Jedi order. There was no doubt in Lorn's mind that the two of them would clash there, and if they did, it could well be the end of the Republic's hopes. Marka was one of the few Jedi capable of facing the most powerful of the Sith, and the only one capable of facing a Sith Master. Their chances seemed incredibly slim at best, but without men like him on their side they may as well give up before the war even started.

There was one thing he could do - he could ask Bastila to re-route her Battle Meditation to the Academy, and the battle going on outside it. It wouldn't help Marka, but it would help his allies. If the rest of the enemy force inside there was defeated, Korgul would have to retreat, or die. No-one could face limitless opponents, no matter their abilities. It would mean that the fleet would be more vulnerable, but Lorn was confident that he could win even without it.

With that decided, Lorn moved to the back room to give Bastila her new instructions.

--


	8. The Dark Lord's Assassin

A/N: As I'm sure you are aware, Bioware is going to be releasing a massive MMO called Star Wars: The Old Republic

_A/N: As I'm sure you are aware, Bioware is going to be releasing a massive MMO called Star Wars: The Old Republic. The game will effectively destroy all chances of there ever being a KOTOR3, although KOTOR2 probably had as much to do with that. The point is, come early next year, the game will be released and this story will become sadly obsolete. This is a heads-up from me, I was planning originally of making this a 3-part series, but that isn't going to happen now. I haven't the time to complete another episode before this game comes out. However, I will be finishing the story of 'Jenesis', I owe it to both my readers and myself._

_A note on Contortis; in the expanded universe is supposed to kill whoever it touches. However, there is no substantial reasoning for this given, nor do they say how much is required to be present to create enough energy to kill by touching. Since there is not nearly enough of an explanation given, I am omitting that ability. _

**Star Wars: The Dark Empire**

**Episode 2 - Jenesis**

**Part 8 - The Dark Lords Assassin**

**Telos, Polar Reaches, Jedi Academy **

Never was physically drained. It was hardly surprising considering that he had climbed vertically for over a kilometre, but it boded ill for his chances should he get into a serious fight. He ran through the passages, deserted except for the dead, Hugas close behind him. Scents of burning, ash, ozone, blood and open bowels invaded his nostrils; strong enough to make him gag. As he ran, he used a Force-technique to help his body recover its energy faster than it would be able to normally. Far away, he could hear sounds of fighting.

They came to a group of wounded commandoes, who were lined up in a passage as a medic saw to them. "Master Marka," said the Medic, "I thought you were up with the main assault."

Never knew that Marka had suffered for a while being mistaken for him, but today was the first time he had been mistaken for Marka. It showed who had become the more well-known in the Republic. His hood covered his tell-tale unmarked left cheek.

"I'm just going there now," he said, not bothering to explain the situation. "What's the quickest way down?"

"The main passage has collapsed further ahead, take the second right and follow it down, don't take any turn offs. You can't go wrong."

"Thanks."

He led Hugas where they had been directed. It was warmer deeper in the academy, and when the air threw his hood back he didn't bother to push it back up. Minutes later, they came into the mid-levels of the academy, where most the fighting was happening. The enemy had dug in, being assaulted from both sides, and were giving up ground very grudgingly. The losses on both sides were horrendous.

"Master Marka," cried a ranking commando officer, running up to him, "I'm glad you're back. We're having problems extracting the enemy from…wait," His eyes travelled to Never's unmarked left cheek, and narrowed. He swivelled his rifle around, pointing it directly at Never's chest. "Who the hell are you?"

Never realised he had made a mistake dropping his hood, it was now apparent that he wasn't actually Marka. He was tempted to use the Force to alter the mans thought patterns and prevent him having to explain, but he couldn't risk the possibility that he'd been trained to resist such interference. He could not make enemies out of his own side.

"My name is Never Oneiro, you know me as Revan."

He had feared that the commando would immediately open fire, there were many who still blamed him for the Jedi Civil War. Then he would be forced to defend himself, and possibly kill the man. Fortunately the commando lowered his weapon.

"Master Marka warned us that you may be arriving," he said, "But he never said anything about you looking like him."

"Where is he?" said Never, relief washing over him.

"He was with the group that got attacked by some sort of invisible Sith. He stayed behind to deal with it."

"Where?"

After receiving directions, Never and Hugas set off at a sprint. Hugas was complaining loudly about stomach cramp, but Never ignored him. If Marka was facing who Never thought he was facing, every second was vital. As they got closer, Never could feel Marka's Force signature and cold focus. He remembered vaguely that Marka always fought cold from his days training with him. There was no doubt in his mind that it was Korgul he was facing, the 'invisible Sith' description fitted him too perfectly.

"Hugas," he ordered his apprentice as they ran, "This is beyond you, go and help the commandoes."

Predictably, Hugas was not happy. But he obeyed his masters instructions without comment. When they reached another turnoff, Hugas took the main path while Never headed down to the right.

Soon he came into a large open cavern, he supposed it must have once been a storage area but would have been used more recently as a training area for Jedi. Just off the centre, Marka and a smaller man he supposed was Korgul were clashing their blades at breathtaking speed. Marka was moving in the Yoshi Ma form - he was in dire straits if he was using it against a single-blade wielder. Never could hardly believe his eyes, Korgul was matching Marka's double white-purple blades with a single silver one, a nearly impossible feat even if the single-blade wielder used the ultimate form as well. Not only was Korgul holding his own, he was doing so without suffering any of the physical strain Marka was obviously undergoing. This coming from a man who couldn't possibly fortify his physical abilities with the Force, impossible.

In an instant they locked blades, and Marka was sent flying backwards towards the wall by a well timed kick to the middle, so fast that Never couldn't see it; neither apparently had Marka. Korgul rushed at him, obviously intending to end him as soon as he struck the wall. Never started running towards the two combatants, knowing that he couldn't possibly get there in time, even with the Force powering his legs. He was shocked, Marka was one of the strongest men he had ever known, and this assassin had sent him flying like a rag doll. Korgul was half a head shorter than him, and skinny as a cantina dancer. Everything about this enemy seemed impossible, including the fact that he could run almost fast enough to catch the flying man before he even struck. Only the Force could save Marka now.

Marka proved though that he was perfectly capable of saving himself, and instead of crashing landed feet first on the metal wall, sinking his claws in so he remained parallel to the floor. Even from where Never was running in from, Korgul's surprise was apparent. The assassin looked even more surprised when Marka bent his knees, and leapt from his strange perch. He dived low as Marka sailed over him, twisting to face him and moving his blade with viper quickness to stop the incoming blows from the hungry double blades. Although he was desperately off-balance, he still managed to block every cut as they passed each other in mid-air. Marka rolled as he landed, and twisted around as he rose with his double-bladed lightsaber in one hand. Never ran to his side, swiftly shedding his thick overcloak.

"I guess I chose the right moment to arrive," Never said, spinning his white-blue double blades; leaving gouges in the floor. He enjoyed the other mans presence, even under such extreme circumstances.

Marka did not say anything in reply; his gaze was focused on Korgul, who was also holding himself in a combat-ready stance. It was then that Never noticed that Marka was bathed in sweat and breathing heavily. He had probably been using Yoshi Ma for a while, he seemed close to exhaustion. As powerful as the ultimate lightsaber form was, it sapped its users swiftly, making it perilous for protracted combat. Never feared that he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.

"And now there's two of them." said Korgul scornfully, "Haven't you realised by now that no number of Jedi can stand against me?" Never's arrival was clearly no cause of concern for him.

Marka said nothing, just breathed deeply, fixing his gaze on his enemy. Never focused the Force-energy in his body as he stared at his opponent. Korgul was noticeably shorter than either of them, with almost a waif-like build. While his face was angular and unremarkable, his eyes were scary. Red as blood, and burning with an intensity that trumped everyone Never had ever known; Sith and Jedi alike. His shimmering full-body suit seemed to fade into the surroundings on its own, it didn't have any natural colour of its own, its front was covered in white splashes and spots that Never recognised as residue foam. Behind his head was a sword hilt. Besides the strange suit, he looked exactly the type of man one would expect as the defendant in a mass-murder trial.

"Has anyone mentioned that you look almost exactly alike?" Korgul asked them when he received no response.

Only everyone who had ever seen both of them.

"I know why," he boasted, "I was told that you might look similar, but this is too perfect. Surely you must have figured it out by now?"

"Tell us," Never growled, no longer able to bite his tongue. The mystery as to why they were so alike had plagued his consciousness for nearly a year, he was sure Marka was just as eager to find out. They had both done a bit of investigating into it, but so far had come up with nothing.

"No," replied the assassin, "If you have not worked it out for yourselves, then it is not my place to tell you. Both of you being here at the same time though does make holding to my orders difficult."

What he meant by that, Never had no idea. By his earlier statement, he plainly wasn't afraid to face them both at once, which made him wonder what exactly Korgul's orders were. He noticed that Marka was using the Force to track air currents, obviously that would help his sight when it came to knowing exactly what his opponent was doing. Unable to pre-empt Korgul's attacks or skim his thoughts off his mind since he was Force-dead, it was the next best thing, and Never copied him.

"Ready to die, little Jedi," Korgul mocked.

Never spared a glance for Marka, who had used the time to catch his breath and looked better for it. His short loss of concentration nearly cost him his life as Korgul rushed in with impossible speed. His sense of the air-currents warned him, and he was able to block quickly. The force of his opponents blow nearly bowled him over.

Marka took the opportunity to slash at him, but Korgul ducked low and drew his sword in one liquid movement, blocking the blade; which flickered and deactivated. Marka used his other blade to block Korgul's following up stab, it deactivated as well. Meanwhile Never managed to send a vicious cut that Korgul was unable to block, he had to manoeuvre away to avoid it. The entire movement had taken less than three seconds. Again there was a stand-off.

Marka then spoke for the first time, "Pure contortis," he said, reigniting both blades, "but reinforced for strength. I see now why you don't simply carry another lightsaber."

Never stared at the sword, most of it was made of contoris-woven metal, but the edge was different. It looked like it was attached separately in pieces, and could be taken out at any time. The metal there was a different colour, and seemed to be giving off a faint glow. Never could see two small notches where Marka's blades had struck it.

"I see," he muttered, "I've never seen it in its pure form, I thought it was too brittle."

"That's why it's only on the edge," Marka replied, "Keep your 'saber on normal intensity and length, or it could be irreparably damaged by the recoil of losing its power."

While contortis-alloy metals would resist lightsaber damage to a point, pure contortis would make any lightsaber touching it short out. For a poorly made lightsaber that could sometimes last for minutes, the better ones though should be able to reactivate immediately. The contortis would still be damaged by its contact with the lightsaber, and was so brittle that it was easily broken. That combined with the extreme difficulty of refining a pure metal meant that few pure contortis weapons had ever been made, and none lasted.

"Smart, boys," said Korgul, giving a toothy grin, "Now, you want to know what it tastes like?"

Korgul attacked again, starting slower than before, but speeding up again almost immediately. Never rolled to the right, and came at Korgul from a right-angle to Marka. He tried initially to use his favourite Juyo form, but nearly died twice when Korgul's blade came far too close for comfort, once grazing his forehead. Never felt the dull burn of pain, and switched to _the way of the whirlwind_, which Marka was already using. He had practised it a lot over the last half-year, and was now nearly as good as his ally, even though he'd only ever received a handful of lessons on it.

Even facing two masters of the ultimate form bearing double-bladed lightsabers, Korgul was still holding his own. He was obviously very experienced at facing more than one opponent. He moved backwards and forwards, from side to side, making it nearly impossible for them to coordinate their attacks on him; coming at them one at a time. By the way he flowed to block their blows, he could obviously sense them coming, meaning that somehow he could use a form of premonition. By contrast, Marka and Never were constantly pulling desperate manoeuvres to block and evade. Both were reactivating their blades when they shorted out on contact with the sword, and a couple of times had to evade even after they'd blocked, the blade carrying on after it had shorted out the lightsaber.

Stab, block, three-point counter slash, desperate block, overhead cut, evade. In less than five seconds he had exchanged twenty blows with Korgul, Marka about the same. It was incredibly kinetic combat, the energy being expended by each of them would kill the ordinary Jedi or Sith.

Then disaster struck, Marka stopped using Yoshi Ma and switched to Sokan. He must have got to the point where the only way he could continue to fight was to do that, spent as he was. Korgul wasted no time in capitalising on his weakness, and moved to engage him while cutting Never off. In three moves Marka was in dire straights, in a further two his body position had been forcibly contorted into a indefensible angle. Seeing his plight, Never tried to step up his attack to distract the other, too late. Korgul kicked Marka's knee in. Never's heart skipped a beat as he heard the audible crack of splintering bone and shattering cartilage. Marka's face drained of colour as he fell with a gasp of pain. Another kick disarmed him and sent him flying and then skidding to the other side of the room.

With Marka sufficiently incapacitated, Korgul turned his entire attention -and both blades- to Never. Never tried to defend with all his might, reactivating his blades as they were snuffed out by the sword, his strength failing fast. Korgul had definitely worked up a bit of a sweat and seemed somewhat slower than when he had started, but without Marka's help Never was horribly outmatched. At the rate he was burning his energy, in another minute he would be unable to continue, if he even lasted that long.

Korgul had the huge advantage of premonition, besides being stronger and faster than Never. Never was desperately trying to think of a way to survive and protect his injured comrade; forget winning. A crazy theory formed in his mind, so ridiculous that had he not been beyond desperate he never would have acted on it. He focused the Force on cutting off his own premonition sense, it wasn't helping him anyway since his opponent was Force-dead. The effect was immediately noticeable, Korgul's reaction time to his attacks slowed, his movements flowed less. He had been right!

Never's theory had been that Korgul was, despite being Force-dead, able to tap into the active abilities of the Force users around him. With Never's premonition sense cut off, Korgul would still be able to draw it from crippled Marka, but it wasn't as much as he had been getting before. Which meant that he was probably also benefiting from their air-current sense as well, and possibly from their reinforcing of their bodies with the Force. It would explain his slowing, Marka was out of the fight and no longer powering himself up, so Korgul's strength and speed had diminished. It was a valuable clue.

Even still, Korgul had the natural strength and agility more than equal to that of a Yoshi Ma user, any residue power he drew only added onto that. Never was still stumped as to the source of his natural abilities, even in the unlikely event that he could power himself up with the Force, he wasn't tiring as a Yoshi Ma user would.

Korgul broke off his attack for an instant, and Never pulled back. For an eternal moment they stared into each others eyes, burning blue met molten magma. Then Never felt it, many Force-sensitive's approaching, they could only be allies. He smiled with pure relief. Korgul scowled a moment later, he had obviously sensed them as well, leeching as he was off Marka and Never's abilities.

"You're lucky," he snarled, "but I will find you. Treasure the moments you have left. And you," he turned to Marka, "I could kill you right now, but I need your mind. When I have you, there will be nothing left to save the Republic. We'll be seeing each other again -very, very soon."

With that, he turned and ran with impossible speed up the way Never had come from, towards the surface. He pulled on his head covering as he ran, fading from sight except for the residue foam attached to his front, which soon seemed oddly to be flying through the air. Never considered following him, then thought better of it. Korgul could easily turn and finish him off, he was nearly exhausted. Besides which, there was no way he could possibly outrun a man with that turn of speed. But since he was running, it meant that he had been lying when he said that he could take on any amount of Jedi, another clue.

Then the Jedi ran into the room, scores of them, led by a pale woman with short white hair; likely a Echani. They were followed by a collection of guards and younger apprentices, who seemed to be armed with an assortment of weapons, many of them probably scavenged. Shocked faces in the front ranks took in the sight before them, Marka on the floor nursing a shattered knee, his face grey with pain; and Never standing with his white-blue double-bladed lightsaber still ignited.

"What have you done to him, doppelganger," the white haired woman hissed, igniting her white double blades. The snap-hiss of lightsabers igniting filled the air as the rest of the Jedi followed her lead.

Never blinked, realising what it must look like to them. He raised an eyebrow at Marka, waiting for him to sort out the mess. This misunderstanding wasn't his only problem, he hadn't shielded his face, everyone had seen him. Those that knew that him and Marka looked remarkably similar would talk, and soon the rumour would be out that Revan had been on Telos. Jezebel would then be hot on his trail, the one person more dangerous than Korgul.

Never Oneiro was not having a good day.

------------------------------------------------

**Telos orbit**

"Lydale, *what* do you think you are doing?" Cora's voice crackled over his headpiece.

"A whole lot more than you, darl," he replied, smiling as he heard the sound of her fist striking something. He knew how frustrated she was that she couldn't do anything in the battle.

"Get back here NOW, or I'll make sure that Marka has your head," she commanded.

Both padawans had been ordered to stay put aboard the 'Indaba' by their Master, so he was disobeying his orders. Lydale had found a damaged E-wing fighter-bomber in one of the hangers, and with the help of some of the flight engineers had got it working; and armed. Now he was with the rest of the fighters forming up at the back of the fleet, ready to be unleashed on the incoming enemy fleet.

"Nothing doing," he replied cockily, "I'm not gonna stay safe while others are out there, fighting and dying."

"But you freeze up when you're under stress," she reasoned.

"Not when I'm in the moment," he told her, "I never froze up on the swoop track once, in all my years of racing."

"Please come back," she said, trying a different tack, "The other pilots, they're trained professionals, you're just a… well…"

"Swoop-Jock," the half-Miraluka finished, clenching his jaw.

"I didn't mean it like that, I…"

"Padawan Lydale Halcyon, this is Admiral Lorn," said a male voice, cutting Cora off. "I am obliged to warn you that disobeying your Master is a very serious offence. However, that is on your head, and between you and your Master. There is a place in Orange squadron, should you want it."

Lydale chuckled, hearing an outraged female voice in the background. There could be no doubt as to its identity.

"Thank you, sir," he said, and adjusted his frequency to that of Orange squadron. At last, the talents that had made him a Swoop-racing champion would be put to a worthy test.

------------------------------------------------

**Telos, Polar Reaches, Jedi Academy (upper levels)**

Korgul ran swiftly, moving at over twenty meters a second, far faster than any ordinary man could ever be able to run. He could run even faster if he wanted, but there was no need, it would only tire him. He ran past enemies and allies alike, cloaked in invisibility. All they would have seen was the air seem to move like liquid in front of them, and felt a rush of wind.

Soon he reached his destination, the 'Intangible', his ship. It was waiting for him in the hangar, while his remaining phantom's secured the perimeter. Korgul hoped the rest were inside the ship, there seemed too few of them.

"Master, it's good you came," said Alpha, running up to him, "The second fleet is engaging the Republic's as we speak, things are not looking good for them. In a few minutes they will be beaten, and we will be stuck here. We can't fly with the enemy fleets guns trained on anything that moves."

"And the army?" said Korgul.

"They were winning, but news got to them that the fleet was about to lose. The smarter ones realised that they would be besieged then, even if they won, and bolted towards their escape craft. Some tried to hold on, but more and more ran, until it was a riot. The battle there is lost as well, Master."

"How bad are our losses?" Alpha began to list estimates of how many men and ships they had lost. "I don't care about them you fool; they are only a means to an end," snapped Korgul, "How many of our own did we lose."

Alpha gulped. "Eleven, Master."

Eleven. Nearly half their number for only seventy-odd Jedi. The majority of those they had killed were initiates, and would not be missed. The trap had been sprung, it was a disaster of the first magnitude, all because the first Hutt fleet had been crushed by the Republic fleet before the second could arrive.

Korgul growled, he would have vengeance. The Republic would learn to fear his wrath even more than the Sith Empire did.

------------------------------------------------

**Telos, Polar Reaches, Jedi Academy (mid-levels)**

Marka sat against the wall, trying to ignore the pain of his knee resetting with a combination of kolto and Force energy. Since its healing was so rapid, he should suffer no problems with it later. Never knelt over him, pouring power into his leg.

Master Brianna and the rest of the Jedi and apprentices had left a short while ago to hunt down the remaining intruders, after Marka had first assured them that Never wasn't an enemy. He was quite safe in his hands; he didn't need any help from them; and no there was nothing sinister about the fact that they looked like twin brothers. Never had remained not so much to heal him as to talk to him, it would likely be the last time they met face to face for a long time with the way speed of current events was escalating. Besides, he was too tired to continue fighting.

"What reason would Korgul have to take you captive?" Never asked him, after they had finished discussing their theories about the assassins abilities.

Marka thought about it, then replied, "He seeks to destroy the Jedi order. You hunt hoppers by smoking out their dens." Hoppers were small, furry marsupials that lived in burrows on Alderaan. "He needs to find all the new Jedi academies in a galaxy filled with thousands of inhabited systems, and kill all the students and trainers there. That way we'll be defenceless when the Sith arrive. But there's only three who know where all of them are located, I'm one of them."

"How would he know that?"

"He shouldn't, only those on the Jedi council would."

"Then you have a leak. There is a traitor in your midst's."

"I know," said Marka, "Bastila and Mical are hunting a Sith, more than one possibly. They have three suspects currently. One of them is in Jedi council."

"Who?"

"Astin Lamar, do you know him?"

"Only by reputation," said Never, shifting his hands to grip Marka's knee, massaging his bruised muscels as they healed. Marka stifled a sigh of pleasure, the sensation was exquisite. "I knew his older brother Vrook, never really got along with him. By all accounts, Astin is a clone-copy personality wise. Both Lamar brothers were trained by Master Vandar, one after the other. Astin was a young padawan around the time of the Sith war. It is possible that he was turned to the dark side then, and simply hid it after the defeat of Exar Kun."

"Very possible," Marka agreed, then filled him in on all that he knew about the case. "It all seems to be pointing in Astin's direction," he concluded, "But there is still no evidence to support."

"It almost seems too obvious," said Never softly, and for a moment the two of them were silent, lost in thought.

"I've been wondering," said Marka, changing the subject entirely, "Why are you called 'Never'? It seems rather a strange name to give someone."

"It's my name," said the other defensively, his whole stance stiffening.

"Tell me why."

Never eyes had glazed, far off look as he began to talk, "I was found on the doorstep of an orphanage on Deleria at midnight, with nothing except a blanket wrapped around me; no note; nothing. I was less than six month old. The lady in charge of the orphanage was asked by one of her subordinates if she was going to name me, she was tired and didn't want to. The subordinate persisted, again and again. Finally; the last time he asked if she was ever going to give me a name, and she cried out 'NEVER', and the name stuck. At least, that is the story I was told, growing up."

"That's a rough start to life," said Marka, "So when did 'Revan' come in?"

"Well, like most other Jedi, I was brought into the order at a young age. Reven, or Revan depending on how you pronounce it, is just my name backwards. It was my secret name, one I only shared with the closest of my friends. Childish, I know, but then I was a child then. That's how it started anyway, by the time I reached my knighthood at seventeen, I insisted on being called Revan exclusively. Later that year, I left for the Mandalorian wars.

"You already know that story, I won't bore you with what happened in the Mandalorian and Jedi Civil wars. I can't even remember most of it anyways, there are still chunks of my memory missing. Towards the end of the wars, I was captured, my reign as Dark Lord ended; and the Jedi reprogrammed me with a new identity - Jake Oneiro. After I defeated my old friend Alek, Malak, my memories started returning. I could no longer hide behind the name Jake Oneiro, equally I couldn't return to the name Revan; it invoked too much bad feeling to whoever heard it. So I chose instead to call myself Never Oneiro, my original name with the surname of my reprogrammed identity."

"Never…Revan…Jake Oneiro…Never Oneiro. Three name changes," said Marka, his eyes widening, "Thrice…three, You're the prodigal!"

"Vandar called me that once," said Never, "The prodigal knight, he called me. Why, is it important?"

Marka explained to him what he knew about the Grey's prophecy, the Hearts of the Force. By the time he had finished, Never looked scared.

"Exactly how long ago were these prophecies made?" he asked.

"Shortly before Darth Messiah's rise to power," said Marka "Nearly a thousand years ago."

"Who made them?"

"I have no idea, I'll ask Laman the next time I see him. But I don't think he knows either."

Never was silent for a moment, obviously thinking hard. "I think its probably genuine," he said finally, "There's just too many parts that could be related to what's happening now. But if it is, we'll need to study it further to glean what we can from its secrets."

"What about that Lullaby," said Marka, quoting, "'Brothers, Sisters, stand'. Assuming that I'm the swordsman and you're the prodigal, does that mean we're brothers?"

"It could just be artistic license describing a close relationship," said Never, "But with our rather obvious physical similarities, it would be worth checking it out."

He took the empty kolto syringe that had been given to Marka, pulled up his sleeve, and stuck the needle in the large vein. After he had half filled the small syringe with maroon blood, he withdrew it and healed the small hole in his arm. He gave the syringe to Marka.

"Here," he said, "That should be more than enough DNA for you to match against your own."

Marka nodded, "If this brother-sister thing is true, I know who the other two Hearts are. Bastila and Kaya. Bastila is without doubt a battle-winner, and Kaya had a lot of visions last year; she saved my life twice through them. They're half-sisters, and they fit the bill for Protector and Prophet perfectly. 'Love to bind you together' could be referring to our Force-bonds with our wives."

"You could be onto something. Time will tell," said Never.

------------------------------------------------

**Coruscant, Underground safe-house**

"Are you sure?" said Lignance softly.

"Our intruder was very clever," Feasance replied, "He left almost no evidence that he'd been into my office. However, he made one fatal mistake; he touched the Pres'ion crystal." He pulled the multicoloured spherical crystal out of his robes, holding it up for the other to see.

"So he left fingerprints?"

"No, he wiped those off. The Pres'ion crystal is different to any normal lightsaber crystal, and far more useful for my purposes. It remembers all who touch it for days, but Force-sensitives mark it for months . I know who the intruder was."

Lignance reached up and took the smooth orb. Immediately he felt a jolt as it touched his skin. Then he focused his power into the stone, drawing into its power. Feasance's presence filled his senses, but there was another fainter one, one he knew well from his council meetings.

"Mical," he hissed, "That meddling fool, he could ruin everything!"

"No he won't. If we use this properly, we could be Lords of the Republic by the time the Empire invades. We'd organise a quick surrender, we could probably hold onto at least a third of the systems. That could be the beginning of our own Empire."

Feasance continued explaining his plan, and before the end Lignance was smiling. They would have power after all, power that they would have to share with the Empire initially, but that would change.

Both of them knew though that they had to rely on each other if they were going to get anywhere. There could be no dissention between them, or they would get nothing. It was unspoken, but both knew it. Their fates were linked, they would rise or fall together. And with Feasance taking the initiative with that plan, Lignance was no longer the master, the other had taken the lead. For now.

------------------------------------------------

**Telos Orbit, the Indaba**

It was hours later when Marka rejoined the fleet. By which time Never was long gone. He was flying with his padawan deep into Hutt space, his mission: to force a quick end to the war; and hopefully evade Jezebel and Korgul simultaneously. Marka had been against the idea, but had been unable to think of any other vital tasks that were any less dangerous, Never had been determined to do something useful. Certainly he couldn't let Never go after Korgul on his own, not after he had just beaten both of them at the same time.

Marka was miserable as he boarded the command ship, using a damaged rifle as a crutch for his partially healed leg. For the first time in his life, he had lost in combat. He hadn't been physically weak at the time, he had not had the wrong equipment, he had not been at a disadvantage from the terrain. He had simply been outclassed and outfought, despite his enemy being outnumbered. Admittingly, he had felt drained before he had entered the academy, but that was no excuse, certainly it hadn't hampered him when he had fought Korgul later.

Thunderous applause greeted him as he hobbled into the main passage, all the crew of the 'Indaba' commanders from all the other ships were lined up on either side; clapping and cheering. They were treating him like a hero, Marka knew he didn't deserve it. He had been beaten, humiliated, and would most likely be a captive of the enemy now if it hadn't been for the actions of others.

Cora came running up, hugging him quickly. "Master, I was so worried," she breathed, and released him. Then she took his arm over her shoulder, and began walking him along the passageway lined with jubilant people.

He felt better for the hug, well enough that he could hold his head up as he staggered down the crowded passage, acknowledging the soldiers appreciation graciously. Amazing that something as simple as human contact could do that for him. As a Sith, Marka had been starved for human touch while he had grown up, what little he'd had had been typically accompanied by pain. Only since his marriage had he learned the therapeutic effects of touch. Somehow female contact affected him far more, which worried him; he was trying very hard not to even think of straying outside his marriage bounds.

Lydale was waiting for them further on, looking distinctly shamefaced. Cora immediately went off on a rant about how he had disobeyed Marka's orders, taking a craft and joined the battle.

"How many kills?" Marka asked when he had heard Cora out, and reached his other padawan.

"Four," said Lydale, "a fighter; a corvette and two bombers. Also I helped to destroy a frigate."

"I told him that he shouldn't," said Cora, "He refused to listen."

"I made a decision," said Lydale defiantly, "I fought, I killed. And I saved Republic lives in the process. I will accept the consequences."

Marka thought quickly, this needed to be addressed now. Cora was right in that he could not accept insubordination from his other padawan, even if he had achieved Marka could not allow that precedent to be established. At the same time, he was impressed by Lydale's attitude, and his ability.

"Lydale Halcyon," he said softly, "You are no longer my padawan."

Both Lydale and Cora blanched. "Then I will accept your decision, Master," said Lydale.

"Master, that is too harsh," said Cora.

"You will be taking the Jedi trials."

There was a long moment of silence.

"You mean…" said Lydale.

"Yes," said Marka, "You have proven beyond doubt that you are ready, your training is complete. You are ready to become a Jedi knight."

Lydale had certainly not been expecting that. "Master…I…"

"And you haven't stammered once. Perhaps it is gone for good."

"Perhaps it has…"

"Master," said Cora angrily, "He disobeyed you, and you're _promoting_ him?"

Marka was about to answer her when he noticed Lorn striding towards him, his face grim, his aura worse. Marka excused himself, leaving a fuming Cora and a stunned Lydale, promising to talk more later. He hobbled towards Lorn, who led him away with few words to a small room just behind the bridge. He was kind enough to help him along.

Bastila was waiting for them, she cried out with relief when he entered, and rushed in to hug him with such force that she nearly bowled him over.

"When I heard that you were fighting that psychopath, I thought…" she breathed.

"That I would die," finished Marka, straitening with difficulty. "I nearly did, but fortunately an old friend came to save me."

He was certainly getting an uncommonly large number of hugs, he wondered if this was customary after a battle. Bastila let go of him, and immediately he missed the feeling of her firm breasts against his chest. Silently he chastised himself for his uncontrolled and perverse thoughts.

"Who?" It was Lorn who asked.

Marka paused. He had agreed with Never that they would keep his being in the Republic from Bastila until he chose to reveal himself. But there would undoubtedly be rumours circulating in the aftermath of the battle, despite Marka's orders that those who had seen Never should keep their lips sealed. Sooner or later Bastila would find out, and put two and two together. Better she heard it from him.

"Your husband, Never," he said, turning towards Bastila.

Bastila's eyes widened, and she gasped. "How did he know to come? Even if he had found out by the early reports, he would only be arriving now had he been in the nearest sector."

"I told him," Marka admitted, "I've been in contact with him for some time."

The sudden crack was like a controlled explosion, certainly it felt like one to Marka cheek. He only just managed to stay upright, eyes watering from the pain of not only the slap; but the sudden extra weight on his injured knee. With his premonition sense, he could have stopped it, he chose not to.

"How dare you keep that from me," she exclaimed, "Do you know how long I've been waiting for word on him? For five years, nothing. Then, out of the blue, a message comes from him to go to some unknown sector to rescue rebellious Sith. I do it without any hesitation, and still no sign of him." Bastila seemed on the verge of tears. "And then I see you!

"You, who have the face of the one who fills my dreams; the love of my life; the father of my child. To add further irony, you're married to my half-sister!" she gave a slightly demented laugh, "I suppose it proves that we have similar taste in men. But you'd met with my beloved, you'd even trained with him. And you had no idea where he was. All that I got from that misadventure was a near copy of my husband, and the dubious pleasure of watching him happy with another woman.

"I don't think you'll ever fully comprehend it's been for me, watching you with her. While I'm struggling to deal with my misery day by day, you're happy. In my heart, I know you're not him, but my eyes keep playing tricks on me. The number of times that I saw you, and for a split-second I was convinced he had come back to me," she stopped, then added spitefully, "Those ugly scars did make it easier, as did the knowledge that he was friendlier, kinder, smarter, warmer, and a true servant of the light."

"And now I find that you've been in contact with him the entire time, and keeping it from me. I don't doubt for a moment that it was his idea, he was always stupidly noble like this. There's no way you'd have done anything like this to protect me, you're not like that. I'm amazed that you were even able to pull off the simple deception, I didn't know you were that intelligent. You are a disgrace to the Jedi, a traitor to your own people. We need you now for your skills, but I guarantee you, as soon as this war is over…"

"Bastila, that's enough!" said Lorn sharply.

Marka meanwhile stood silently enduring her tirade of abuse.

"You're one to talk," Bastila snarled, turning on Lorn, "ex-Imperial, traitorous captain. Another who will be discarded as soon as the we win."

"We could be," Lorn admitted, "That was the chance we took when we chose to betray our people. I understand that you are angry right now, but I urge you to seriously consider your words at the moment. I have something to tell both of you that will likely make you regret what you just said for the rest of your life, don't compound it."

"Why, what's happened?" said Marka. For some reason a sense of anxiety filled him, he was certain what he was about to hear was terrible news.

Lorn sighed, "I will tell, but first we must go over the battle. I fear you will not be in a mood to discuss it after." The sadness in the older man's grey eyes was intense, Marka and Bastila exchanged a worried glance.

According to Lorn, they had destroyed in the region of 6500 enemy ships, for the loss of just 873 of their own, although another thousand needed major repairs and most of the remaining fleet needed at least some. The ground forces hadn't fared so well, especially since Marka had left. They had left around 15000 enemy dead and taken 11000 captive for the loss of 6915 and another 12000 wounded. It had been a close call there, just over 4000 Republic soldiers had been left that were fighting fit. They would most likely had lost the battle had the enemy not realised that, with the space battle being lost above them, they were in danger of being stranded; and ran.

With Marka's kills taken into account, they had accounted for nine of the enemy phantoms. There might have been more, those were just the confirmed kills. Out of the Jedi Marka had sent into battle, two were dead and three in a critical condition, including Kaah Ohtok. The twi-lek Jedi master had been given a fifty-fifty chance of living. The Telos academy had lost 17 of its experienced Jedi, 89 of its guards and 51 initiates and padawans. The commandoes who had come to save them had lost more than half their number, dead or wounded, but had taken down far more than their number of enemies.

"It could have been better," Lorn concluded, "But all in all, a resounding victory."

Marka had to agree. Now that he had at least partially recovered from his humiliating defeat by Korgul, he could appreciate their overall victory. He himself had slaughtered 51 enemy soldiers, destroyed four mechs; killing five men in the process; and slain four phantoms. Sixty lives had been extinguished by his hand in a few hours of fighting, tens of thousands more by the soldiers under his command. He took no pleasure from it, but felt no remorse either. It had been necessary, and should it ever be necessary again he would no more shirk from his responsibility to defend the Republic than he had shirked today. Still, the loss of twenty experienced Jedi was a serious blow, they only had about 500 of them; three quarters being ex-Sith that had followed him out of the Empire.

"Battle Meditation played a large role," said Bastila.

"It did," agreed Lorn, and when Marka asked he explained how she had used it to influence the army initially, and then moved it to the fleet. Even her padawans had helped.

Marka was fascinated, he had never heard of a Force-technique that could influence entire armies. It was a proven fact that Force-users leading troops would make them perform far better than they would have otherwise, but that was on a much smaller scale. Even in the Sith Empire they'd had nothing like it. It gave Marka hope, they had a powerful weapon that the Sith did not. And with Bastila training apprentices, every one of their larger battle-fleets could be covered by its influence by the time war broke out.

"There is one more thing," said Lorn, "Just before we engaged the first enemy fleet, a fighter hyperspaced in right in front of them, one of ours. I tried warn them, but it was too late. They were shot down, no survivors, and with all the wreckage after the battle it is highly unlikely that we will even be able to find any remains."

"Exactly how is this important," said Marka frowning, "Such misfortunes happen in battle. Are you that desperate to stall telling me whatever bad news you have?"

Lorn's next statement would shatter him. "Marka, the pilot, it was Kaya!"

------------------------------------------------

**Telos, Fleet HQ**

Carth Onasi opened his bleary eyes. The first thing that caught his eye was the empty bottle of Correlian whiskey, and the used glass lying on its side next to it. He had been sleeping across his desk, scrunching up important military documents that required his signature. His stomach heaved, Carth covered his mouth and rushed to the nearby restroom.

Afterwards, as he was rinsing the sour taste out his mouth, Carth caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked like death warmed up, his face haggard from months of stress and drinking; and pale from weeks without the sun. Deep bags were firmly entrenched under his bloodshot brown eyes. His dark hair was greasy and trussed about, his normally neat beard surrounded in stubble. Only his uniform looked respectable, if a little creased from being slept in.

"What was the reason this time?" he asked his reflection. Why had he gotten drunk while an important battle was being fought? He'd intoxicated himself on regular occasions since his promotion to Grand Admiral, but never before at a time when his presence might have been needed. He could remember vividly the pain of his meeting with Dustil, the anger at having to deal with Lorn again, and the frustration as him and Marka had taken charge of the entire operation. Not to mention the constant loneliness of his position. They seemed like poor excuses, even to him.

"You have a problem," he told his reflection, and splashed cold water on his face. Then he started to clean himself up.

Carth was combing his hair slowly when his soldiers instincts came to him, and he froze. Something was definitely wrong. Exiting the bathroom, he moved back to his desk and pulled out his utility belt. It was the same one that he had used during his missions with Jake Oneiro (Revan), and still had the two Mandalorian-styled blasters attached. He hadn't used it in years, but had always kept it handy as an extra personal security. Then he checked the security panel.

At first glance, nothing seemed to be wrong, there were no breaches in security; no alarms had been tripped. All of the guards were alive, and none had reported anything unusual. But on closer inspection, the two guards in his sector's heart rates were unnaturally slow, as though they had been drugged or knocked unconscious. Carth switched on the silent alarm - nothing happened. He tried the intercom, still nothing. Frantically he tried all of the security fail-safe's, not one worked. Carth's heart was hammering against his chest, there could be no doubt, somebody was trying to assassinate him.

It wasn't the first time it had happened, but it _was_ the first time someone had managed to get past the extensive security system. Whoever it was, they were very good, the system had been designed to catch even the best bounty hunters and assassins. Carth quivered with nervous excitement, his hangover forgotten, it felt good to be in a life or death situation again. He had never really been cut out for office work.

He moved into the dark passage, both pistols in hand, senses tuned for the slightest hint of movement. Slowly he stepped, quietly he moved down the passage, the only noise the dull click of his boots against the metal floor. Realising that his approach could be heard, Carth pulled them off quickly, making sure that he did so silently and with one armed hand always ready. Then he carried on walking in his socks.

The corner of his eye caught the hint of movement, he swivelled, and everything happened at once. There was a snap-hiss, a flash of white light, and a burning sensation. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground. He had tried to cry out when he had gone down, but all that had come out was a gurgle. He couldn't breathe, staring down he saw why, there was a deep gash in his body slicing the lower ribs. He could not inhale, air was escaping from his lungs. Carth tried to raise his pistols, only to find that both arms had been severed, just above the elbow.

_This cannot be happening, this must be a bad dream!_ Carth thought as he watched his attacker materialise out of thin air in front of him. Most of his body was shrouded in shadow, but for some reason his eyes were apparent. They were both terrifying and mesmerizing at once, red as blood. Carth's lungs burned as though they were on fire, he could not breathe, he could not speak.

His killer looked down on him pitilessly as he drew a sword from behind his head. Then Carth was flying through the air, he hit the wall and bounced off, striking the floor an instant later. The pain was gone, there was just a curious lightness. Was that his body lying over there?

Why was the dark passage getting even darker?

------------------------------------------------


	9. Suppression War

**Star Wars: The Dark Empire**

**Episode 2 - Jenesis**

**Part 9 - Suppression War**

_One month later_

**Coruscant, Jedi Temple, Council Chambers**

"With the death of Calus the Hutt, we met little resistance in the Unicru sector of Lannik," said Marka, who was giving the report on how the war was going. "With five sectors controlled, our invasion is ahead of schedule. Our losses though are also substantially higher than anticipated, the Conglomerate sent in higher quality troops than we have seen previously."

The battle had nearly been an absolute disaster; Marka had been attacked by two phantoms at once, even though he seen through their ambush he had still very nearly been killed. His forces had been outnumbered and outmanoeuvred, and without his leadership had been pulling back. Only the timely arrival of an armoured corps had forced the enemy to abandon their pincer movement, after that it had degenerated into a battle of attrition. Marka had ultimately defeated his attackers and led the Republic in a charge that had broken the enemy's back, sending them fleeing in their thousands.

"Thank you, Master Cabanic," said Bastila, and Marka took his seat.

"We lost two Jedi in the fighting," he said quietly, but everybody heard him. "The other two are in a critical condition."

There was moment of silence; all in the council knew how keenly each loss cut the order. Especially since only experienced Jedi fought on the front lines. All four of them had been ex-Sith.

"Well, it can't be helped," said Bastila awkwardly, "In war, people die."

"Has there been any recent movements from Jezebel?" said Marka, changing the subject.

"Nothing recently," said Brianna, "As you know, the Exile destroyed that city on Reecee three weeks ago, but since then she has vanished. I can only think that she is training her new followers, by the last reports she has about fifty now, travelling in three different ships."

Brianna and Venoak, an ex-Sith who had followed Marka, had been elected to council to replace Kaya and Yarin; both killed in the Polar battle of Telos. Kaah Ohtok had recently returned to the council, recovered enough to sit in on a meeting, if not enough to train himself or others. It would be a long time until he would be able to fight again. Ramon Naj's seat was typically empty, he hadn't attended any meetings since he had taken off with his fifty students four months ago, they weren't expecting his return any time soon. Marka found that he actually missed him, they had been through a lot together.

"She has a lot to answer for," said Mical angrily, "Sixteen million civilians, dead by her hand."

"Any word of who killed those Hutt clan leaders on Klatooine?" said Vandar.

"Still nothing," said Tathleen, the chronicler of the archives, "A lightsaber was used, but I am certain it wasn't Revan. He was spotted a day before on Nar Shaddaa. He might have fled immediately after that, but the journey would have taken too long for him to have been there at that time. It must have been someone else."

"Never, his name is Never," said Marka softly. Bastila nodded in agreement.

Marka had not admitted to meeting with Never on Telos, but since the rest of the council took the rumour as a certainty the effect was the same. Since directly after the battle they had been tracking his movements, trying to get in contact with him. The problem was that Marka was sure that there was a Sith in the council, who would be sure to pass all Never's movements onto Korgul. But he couldn't possibly reveal that to the council, it would divide them in a time where there had to be unity, causing infinite suspicion between members. Hopefully Mical would discover the identity of the traitor soon.

"This is the third time its happened," said Vandar, "First the crime lords, then their academy for training elite soldiers, now the clan leaders. Not to mention half a dozen other attacks that we have difficulty linking to Revan."

"Never," Bastila corrected.

"There is a rumour going around," said Brianna, "Someone calling himself 'Morningstar' saved a few thousand refugees on Lannik shortly before our invasion. He's done a lot more than that, this is just his greatest achievement so far. Apparently he has Jedi skills, and an accomplice with similar abilities. And he is definitely not Rev… sorry, Never."

"How do we know that?" said Marka sharply.

"Never was confirmed on a different planet by nearly a hundred eyewitnesses at the same time as this rescue was going down. He was trying to destroy a droid factory with his apprentice, he wasn't entirely successful."

"How did this 'Morningstar' save those people?" asked Astin Lamar.

"There was a merchant fleet about to fly off with tons of medium-value cargo," Brianna explained, "he destroyed a large portion of that cargo and forced the crews to take the refugees to safety. They didn't exactly comply willingly, but did the job. Most of the refugees were resettled on Onderon."

"What does he look like?"

"Eyewitnesses all agree that Morningstar dresses in pure white Jedi robes, the hood is always up. His voice is rough and grating, some put it down to a voice-changer. His face isn't masked, but by all reports it is impossible to make out with the naked eye."

"That's an incredibly advanced Force-technique!" Marka exclaimed, "It required tremendous skill to achieve, and great power to maintain. Only a few Sith masters and the Dark Lord are capable of it, Never Oneiro is probably the only Jedi in the history of the order to learn it." Marka himself had been unable to reach that level of control.

"After that the reports vary greatly," Brianna continued, ignoring Marka's outburst, "Size ranges from tall to short-ish. Rumours about him go from strange to downright crazy. There's a couple that he is a twi-lek, a rodian, a woman, a former Jedi turned Sith that's just come out of hiding after deciding to be a Jedi again, or that he is actually Marka's alter ego."

"Ridiculous," he muttered.

"Agreed, it is impossible," said Astin.

Marka bit back an angry retort. The older Jedi had a way of turning a simple statement into a deadly insult. The fact that he suspected him of being an undercover Sith only made it harder to refrain from a verbal or physical assault.

"Many seem to agree that he is the Chosen one, here to save us from the Sith. But I think that is just hopefulness. Most say that he has Force abilities, but without a Jedi witness we have no way of knowing how powerful he is."

"To sum it all up, we have no idea who this 'Morningstar' is," said Astin.

Marka sat up sharply at Astin's comment, the situation suddenly reminding him of a year before, when he had been wondering who exactly the shadow-man 'Never' was. Never had been aiding the rebellion of Sith planets at the time. Morningstar seemed somewhat similar in style. Too bad it wasn't Never this time.

"We could find out," said Bastila, "He's probably a Jedi who left the order within the last ten years and hasn't rejoined it yet. Master Tathleen, can I trust you to pull up the relevant files. And pay special attention to the most powerful Jedi, there's a higher probability of him being one of them."

"I can do that, Master," said Tathleen.

"Another uncontrollable variable," Astin grumbled, "Too much chance in this war."

"War always has uncontrolled variables and chance," said Marka, "At least this one is on our side. I think we can assume that 'Morningstar' killed the clan leaders, unless we get evidence to disprove that theory."

"A weak theory," said Vandar, "But in the absence of a better one, I think that is the one we will have to work with."

"We should get in contact with Morningstar," said Bastila, "Perhaps then we would be able to work together cohesively, as a unit."

"That will only happen if he contacts us," said Marka. They had no way of knowing who or where Morningstar was.

------------------------------------------------

**Coruscant, Jedi Temple, Mical's chambers**

The meeting was over, and like most other meetings nothing had come from it. True, they had discussed recent events to the nth degree, but they had made no definite decisions. Mical hadn't spoken the entire time, he had simply observed the other council members, trying to discern any trace of ulterior motives in them.

Mical sat down heavily on his bed, running his fingers through his blond locks. Sighing deeply, he went over the recent events and clues in his head. Korgul's first attack had been on Alderaan, over a month ago. But instead of attacking the Jedi academy there, which would have been the juiciest target; especially since Marka had been there at the time; Korgul had only killed a bunch of shady businessmen. It seemed almost petty, even if it had shattered the sectors economy overnight. But it proved that at the time, he had no knowledge of where the Jedi academies were.

As a direct result of the attack, it had been decided by the council to immediately move every one of the Jedi academies to safer locations, which only Marka; Bastila and Laman had known the locations of. The only academies that hadn't been moved were the ones on Telos (because it was so remote) and Coruscant (because the Jedi Temple was immobile). Not moving the Telos academy would soon prove to be a mistake. Korgul hadn't met up with the hidden Sith during that time, otherwise he would have attacked before the academies had a chance to move. If he had met with them, he had done so too late to catch the nearest academy before they departed.

Then, a few days after the move, he had attacked. He had taken the Telos academy in a massive, lightning-fast raid; the majority of his army made up of conscripts from Hutt planets. They had been lucky that he hadn't done more damage to the Jedi order then, in fact they had come off better in that battle. When taking travelling distances into account, there was only a period of about three days when he could have met up with the hidden Sith -assuming that he'd met them on Coruscant- and found out the location of the Telos academy. Korgul wasn't using the communication channels, Mical was sure of that, he didn't want to be found; and using them would be a dead giveaway with so many people watching them in these troubled times. He must have been kicking himself then, to know that he'd missed his golden opportunity to get Marka on Alderaan. Since then, his movements had been far easier to track, with every sighing of his being recorded diligently.

Mical had kept tabs on his three suspects who had been in the chancellors box when he had felt the uncontrolled surge of emotion coming from a dark-sided Force user. They were: Astin Lamar, 56, male human; Jedi Master on the high council. Kaur Agrippal, 63, male human; Galactic Chancellor. Treken Rae, 89, male epicanthix; Chancellors personal aide. All three of them had been on Coruscant at the time Korgul would have had to meet with them. Mical was sure that at least one of them was a Sith Lord, or thought of himself as one. They would have got into contact with Korgul at that time.

The knowledge of the Telos academy's location had been confined to few outside the Jedi council, most even inside the order had thought the polar regions as little more than desolate waste, excepting of course those who trained there. Mical had spent the last month checked out all those outside the council with knowledge of the academy, they were all clear. The only one he hadn't been able to investigate properly was Jezebel the Exile. She had known about the academy, even if she hadn't known that it had been re-established and expanded. But if she had given the information, Mical was sure she would have stayed with them for the chance to catch Revan. So it was probably someone on the council.

Astin Lamar seemed the obvious choice, given that he was already on Mical's list of suspects. Not wanting to leave any stone unturned, Mical had compiled a list of all the council members that had been on Coruscant at that time. Besides himself and Bastila, it had only been Tathleen, Vandar and Astin. Now Mical had five suspects on two separate lists, which overlapped only on Astin Lamar's name. Everything seemed to be pointing to him. But Mical was reluctant to act without solid evidence.

The door opened, and Brianna Kae came in. She sat down next to him, and put her hand on his shoulder. "Find out anything today?" she asked.

Brianna was the newest addition to the investigation team, bringing their number up to four. It hadn't been entirely necessary for her to get involved, and Bastila had been against it. But with both her and Marka heavily involved with the war, Mical had felt that he needed some support. With Brianna's recent promotion to the high council, she was the perfect candidate, there were no grounds for suspicion against her. Besides, she was the Jedi that he trusted the most out of the entire order. The only other possible candidate in the council had been Kaah, but he was still recovering from his nearly deadly wound.

He shook his head, "No, nothing new. I think its time to collect the camera-feed from the chancellors office."

He hadn't been there since he had installed the bugs a month ago, they had all been set to record rather than transmit. Mical had been terrified that their transmissions would have been picked up, and they would have been discovered.

Security had been stepped around the chancellor recently, what with the current war. Besides the obvious threat of phantoms, Hutts were well known for making use of bounty hunters. And there would undoubtedly be a bounty on the chancellors head. It had also made retrieving the camera and audio feed had been all but impossible.

"The chancellor is going to the 'Serenity' concert tonight, most of his security will be taking a break," said Brianna, "We might not get a better opportunity than this."

"How did you find that out?"

Brianna gave a hint of a smile, which for her was the equivalent of a massive grin, "Most of the chancellors guards are Echani. I made friends with them."

Mical was impressed, she was already proving her worth. "Tonight then," he agreed, "And afterward, maybe we could go and sample that new Corellian restaurant."

He tried to appear nonchalant about it, but his heart was hammering so fast that he was sure it would betray him. He had been longing to ask Brianna out for months now, his duties had kept him from doing so. He waited for her to respond, the seconds ticking by slowly. _Remain calm, don't panic._

"Dinner would be nice," she said finally, "But we'll have to wear something other than our burglar outfits, they're not very attractive and we'd attract too much attention."

Mical gave a laugh at her slight joke of 'burglar outfits', but inside his heart was doing a victory-jig.

------------------------------------------------

**Lannik System, Spaceport**

"I'm worried about him, Cora," Bastila admitted to the tall blonde woman, "Ever since his wife died, Marka has barely said anything about it. He's going on like nothing happened, focusing everything on this war. His success is undeniable, he hasn't lost a single battle yet, and his strategies have been ruthlessly efficient. But I worry about him, he seems… different."

They were sitting in the Female officers lounge, having just finished their mid-day meal. Not that mid-day meant anything in space. But body patterns had to be observed, if they were to remain in good health. As Jedi, both Cora and Bastila had been allowed to use the officers facilities, even though Cora was only a padawan. But then she had served as a captain in the army before joining the order.

"He has changed," Cora agreed, "Before, he would smile on occasion and compliment me when I did well. Now he never smiles, no encouragement, he only berates me for mistakes. Once, when two officers disobeyed his orders and ended up getting men killed in the process, I thought he was going to murder them. There was a fury in his eyes like I'd never seen in anyone before."

"He didn't, did he?" said Bastila anxiously.

"No," said Cora, "He ordered one of his senior officers to deal with them, and left."

"Obviously he felt that he couldn't deal with them calmly," said Bastila.

The story chilled her to the bone. In another person it wouldn't have been an abnormal sequence of events, but Marka normally had stronger than iron self-control. It was what made him such a deadly fighter and effective leader. If he was starting to lose that control, he could well become a liability to their cause, making rash decisions and poor judgement calls. He might even start seeking death in battle. And if he died, there would be nothing holding the ex-Sith to the Jedi order. The cream core of the Jedi could just as easily turn around and start fighting for the enemy. Marka was vital to their efforts. If he fell, so too would the Republic.

"He must be trying to forget his wife's death by immersing himself in the war," said Bastila, "That's not healthy. He's bottling up his pain, allowing it to fester and grow."

"His wife was his link to the Jedi order," said Cora, "I'm worried, now that she's dead, that link is severed. What's to stop him from returning to the Sith?"

That would be the one thing worse than his death, his betrayal. If he left, most of the ex-Sith would undoubtedly follow him, and many more other Jedi would follow just out of the force of his personality. It would be like Revan leading the Jedi to the Mandalorian wars all over again. The Jedi order would crumple, never to recover. But Bastila had considered before as one of her worst-case scenarios, and already had an answer.

"He wouldn't, he is still linked to us through his daughter. That is all that remains of his wife to him, and I'm certain he wouldn't want her growing up to be a Sith."

"But could he be concerned about what it would be like for her growing up without a father, and saving his own life?"

"I don't think he's the type of man who fears death, perhaps he even wishes for it now. And he has other motives for joining with us. Kaya told me once that he was forced to kill his own father, and decided because of that to go against the Sith."

"He never told me that," said Cora softly, and the two women sat for a while in silence.

"We have to help him," Cora burst out suddenly, startling Bastila into spilling her caffa, "We owe it to him. He's given up everything for us. And we need him, we can't just let him wallow in misery until he takes a blaster to the head."

"And how do we do that?" said Bastila, wiping the liquid off her pants with her free hand.

"He needs a lover!" Cora exclaimed with such intensity that several lady officers nearby gave them sideways glances. "He needs someone to love, he's lonely and sexually frustrated."

Bastila could hardly believe what she had just heard, she blinked a couple of times, unsure how to react. "And who exactly do you have in mind for that job?" she managed finally.

"Why, me of course!" said Cora happily, "He deserves someone worthy of him, someone who has a strong; beautiful body and is talented in the Force."

_But not apparently strong in the head, _thought Bastila, _Or humble._ Cora was undeniably beautiful though, her hair was like spun gold, her eyes a crystal clear pool. Her body was firm and muscled, but well curved and rounded where it mattered. Looking at her, Bastila couldn't help but be jealous. While she wasn't unattractive herself, she felt plain compared to the other woman's level of physical beauty. About the only thing that might be a deterrent to men about Cora was her height; at 1,87m she was taller even than Marka.

"I thought you didn't like men," said Bastila, "There've been rumours…"

"They're wrong," Cora growled, "I just won't lower myself to be with a man unworthy of me. I met very few worthy men, and all were already married."

"I guess the best ones get snapped up quickly," said Bastila philosophically.

Cora nodded vigorously, "But Marka's a widower, its perfect! I saw how he was with his wife, if he's that way with me, it would be … … um … … give me a word; please Bastila."

"Try 'immaculate'," said Bastila, after a moment of thought. She had chosen it simply because she was sure the other woman had no idea what the word meant, and some snide part of her wanted to flaunt how much more intelligent she was.

"That's it! I'd have an immaculate life with Marka."

Bastila wasn't sure if the word worked in that context, it did mean faultless and perfect, but was associated more with washing. An image flashed in her mind of Marka and Cora naked in the refresher together, she dashed it out of her mind before she could see what they were doing.

"He's handsome, don't you think," Cora gushed, starry-eyed, "His eyes, they are soooo intense. His body is just to die for! His cold control, everywhere he goes, he radiates danger. He just oozes sexiness, and he's totally unaware of it. He is definitely worthy of me.

"Sooner or later, he will have to move on. Half the women in the order are in love with him, and he does nothing about it. With all of them making themselves available for him, he won't have a problem finding another partner. Knowing him, the first one he kisses he will stay with 'till death do them part'. I just have to make sure that woman is me."

"Why are you telling me this?" asked Bastila.

"Isn't it obvious? You're married, and you're his friend. You want what's best for him, and surely you can see that I'm what's best for him now. I want you to talk to him, find out when he's ready for me to move in on him. I need you as my wing … woman." Cora flashed a dazzling smile at her.

Bastila found herself agreeing, but even as she said the words she felt a strange feeling worm its way into her heart. She wasn't sure what it was, but it made her nauseous. Was it because she wasn't sure if Marka was ready for another relationship so soon after his loss? Or that she thought Cora wouldn't be right for him? She dared not consider the other possibilities, even to herself.

------------------------------------------------

**Lannik, Republic forward base**

Marka marched smartly down the lines of soldiers, stopping at points to examine their armour and weapons. The soldiers had obviously made an extra effort to clean up before his inspection, despite the fact that they were on the front line. Marka though was taking no notice of the states of their uniforms. He only cared what state the soldiers and their combat equipment were in.

Satisfied, he gave the order, and the soldiers dispersed quickly; eager get away from the stony Jedi Master.

Marka meanwhile walked off to his lightweight; portable hut, and closed the door behind him. He was the only one in the army who had a ten-man hut all to himself. He had shared it with the other Jedi who were helping with the war effort. Only two days ago there had been five of them, all ex-Sith. Now two were dead and two more badly wounded, shipped off-world for treatment.

As always, he alone had survived unscathed.

Marka pulled his purple over-cloak off and threw it onto one of the beds. The striking colour was what differentiated him from the rest of the Jedi, it served as a good rallying point for troops he led. Conversely it meant that he was far more likely to be targeted by the enemy, and killed. But he no longer cared. Some days he wished he were dead.

He sat down heavily on his bed, chastising himself silently. He couldn't die, if he did his daughter would be an orphan. If it came to that, he had made arrangements that would secure her future, but he couldn't seek death. It was extremely selfish. Especially since he knew that if he died, the Republic's chances of victory would be considerably reduced. He had made a commitment to them, he couldn't just lie down and perish because he didn't want to live any more.

Ever since Kaya's death, Marka had felt like a shadow of his former self. A part of him had died with her, the best part. He missed her, Force how he missed her. He missed those times they had spent together, how when she was in his arms it felt like nothing else in the universe mattered. Life was hollow, all the joy and pleasure of living turned into ash in his mouth.

All that remained to him was the constant struggle of putting one foot in front of the other, and moving forward.

His communication unit started beeping. Irritated, Marka got up to receive the call. His annoyance faded as soon as he saw who it was from. It was a doctor from the Coruscant research lab that Marka had sent his and Never's blood sample to. As he listened to the report, his eyes grew wider and wider. He grabbed a pen and paper and quickly jotted down the most important parts of what he was being told. He left the room immediately after the call, and ran towards the nearest shuttle. He couldn't possibly talk to Never, he hadn't been able to contact him since Telos, but there was someone else who would be very interested in those results.

------------------------------------------------

**Coruscant, Jedi Temple, Mical's chambers**

The break-in had gone smoothly, and they had retrieved the data without a hitch. Mical had become fairly good recently at picking locks. Before they had left, he had found the crystal that he had seen before, and shown it to Brianna. They went without leaving a trace of their intrusion.

Before they had gone over the data though, they had gone to dinner at the Corellian restaurant Mical had suggested. It had been simply sublime. Brianna had worn a virgin white dress, simple yet elegant. Mical had felt his mouth go dry when he had seen her in it, it fit snugly to her curves and accented her hair. She had even complimented him on how good he looked in a white suit.

Dinner had been perfect, they had been served by a human (which was a novelty, mostly droids attended to service) and he had been perfectly professional, and yet warm and friendly. Much better than being attended by AI. The food had been exotic and exquisite, laid out on the plate like a work of art. They had been hesitant to eat it, but when they had; they found that it tasted just as good as it looked. There had been a live band playing, one that mercifully wasn't dominated by Bith's, creating a pleasant atmosphere.

All in all it couldn't have been a better evening, or a more perfect first-date. Simulated by the environment, Brianna had come more out of her shell than Mical had ever seen her before. They had chatted for nearly two hours, before and after dinner, about everything. Of course, they had carefully avoided talking about the war or the investigation. Mical had been in such a good mood by the end that when he had been presented with the bill, he had tipped the waiter nearly fifty percent of it, and it hadn't been cheap.

Afterwards, they had come back to his apartment to study the evidence they had gathered. It was long and dreary work, sifting through weeks worth of audio-visual footage. But still the feeling of the date had remained, and they had talked long into the night as they listened and watched to different clips. When they had run out of things to say, they snuggled up close together and continued monitoring the surveillance.

It was shortly after midnight when Mical felt Brianna stiffen against him. "What is it?" he asked.

She took her headphones off, and handed them and the data-displayer to him. "Look at this," she said.

Chancellor Agrippal was in his office in the recording, and talking to a holo-image. Mical could not make out anything about the image, its back was turned to him, and the camera's movement did not help. The image was dated to nineteen days after he had tampered with the camera.

"I told you not to contact me in the office," Agrippal was saying.

"The line is secure," argued the other.

"Yes, but if something urgent happens and someone runs in? I've been having that happen a lot recently."

"Then I am a friend you just happened to be talking to."

"Covered in a cloak? It will look suspicious, Darth Lignance," said the chancellor.

Mical gasped, taking in the name. Darth Lignance, that was a name given to a Sith Lord. And since the chancellor was talking to him as an equal, it meant that he was most likely a Sith Lord as well and they were in cahoots together.

Mical noticed that while the two were speaking, Treken Rae; the chancellors aide; was standing quietly in the corner, his eyes glazed and unfocused. So this was how the chancellor had been keeping his aide in the dark. Mical knew that those strong in the Force could dominate a weaker mind, to the point of incapacitation. At least this meant that the epicanthix was free of suspicion. Not that it had seemed likely to Mical that a non-human would be a Sith Lord.

The conversation did not last much longer, the chancellor was unwilling to discuss anything in his office. But they did agree to meet at their 'usual place'. The only other point of interest was when the hologram image, Darth Lignance, referred to the chancellor as 'Darth Feasance'. Soon after the image winked out, and after waiting a short bit for follow up activity, Mical switched off the data-displayer.

The implications of the scene were potentially devastating for the Republic. Firstly, it served as conclusive evidence that there were two Sith Lords. Chancellor Kaur Agrippal was a Sith Lord named Darth Feasance, he had been playing everybody for fools, manipulating events to his whim. The other Sith Lord, Darth Lignance, was in close contact with him. Based on their other information, that Sith was on the Jedi council. They likely had a good few apprentices and retainers, but Mical doubted that there was another that they allowed to be on the same level as them.

The question was, who was Darth Lignance? Mical still had three suspects who could fit the role. Astin Lamar though was the only one who was human, which made him seem by far the most likely. Mical knew how the Sith tended to sideline what they thought of as _lesser species'._ Tathleen, being a Kiffar, was a near-human; but the Sith seemed to prefer them only marginally over the more alien races. Vandar, Mical didn't even know what species he was.

It was true that the suspicion against Lamar had lessened, for if there had only been a single Sith Lord then it could only have been him. But he was still the most likely candidate for the other Sith Lord.

------------------------------------------------

**Lannik System, Spaceport**

Today was the day. Today they would complete their mission. Today they would capture Bastila Oneiro.

Jaq Rand tugged irritably at his Republic Sergeant's uniform. He was going to murder whoever designed these things, they seemed to be made to be unpleasant. Even after weeks of wearing it in, it still chafed him. They were itchy, stubbornly denied comfort, and _orange_. They couldn't have made a worse uniform if they had tried. For the third time in a minute, he tried to adjust his sleeves.

Visas walked ahead of him, dressed as a lance-corporal. She carried an air of serenity that Jaq wished he could emulate. She had forgone her normal headgear for a black band around her eyes, which was the required standard for Miraluka in the military. It meant that her surprisingly dark hair was exposed, and her forehead; which was whiter than the rest of her face.

Having been tasked by their lady Jezebel to capture Bastila Oneiro, Jaq and Visas had infiltrated the Republic Military to get close to her. It hadn't been too difficult, there had been a call for more soldiers since the beginning of what was becoming known as the 'Suppression war', and they had been able to slip in without drawing any undue attention to themselves.

Jaq was glad Visas was with him, she had made the weeks of monotony seem like an extended date, or even a honeymoon. He had to admit, she had grown on him. What had begun primarily as a lust-fuelled relationship was transforming into something more enduring. This time together as soldiers had become the happiest in Jaq's miserable existence. He didn't want this time to end, even if it meant spending the rest of his days as a Republic trooper, and wearing the atrocious uniform.

But Jezebel held absolute control over his soul, he dared not defy her will. Ever since Bao-Dur and Mical's defection she had reinforced her bonds with her remaining followers tenfold. Jaq had come to hate her for it. His life was no longer his own, it was at her sufferance. If, somehow, she was killed; he would die. So too would Visas, and the other fifty-odd followers she had collected recently. But if they died, she wouldn't. She was the master puppeteer, they were her little marionettes.

Today they would capture Bastila, using her Jezebel would draw Revan to her. Then she would snuff out the life of one of the Republic's greatest heroes.

Jaq was not a particularly patriotic, or even loyal man. But even he could sense that what they were doing was deeply immoral. He had seen how Jezebel had decimated city's with her raging power, killing hundreds of thousands of innocent sentients for no reason whatsoever, except to leech their miniscule power. He had watched as she had bound dozens of Force-sensitive men and women to her will, leaving them little more than mindless drones. He had heard Revan's pleas to Jezebel about the threat of the Sith Empire, and seen how she blatantly ignored him. Nothing would dissuade her from her path of vengeance. Deep in his heart, Jaq wished that he had left with that Blondie Mical, and joined the Jedi. Then maybe, just maybe, he would have a cause worth fighting for.

He hated Jezebel. He hated himself for following her.

Jaq checked his wrist, there were three powerful stun-needles hidden there, each powerful enough to take down a baby Rancor; attached to a spring projectile and hidden under his sleeve. With his Jedi-hunter skills, there would be no way Bastila would even sense them coming before it was too late. Visas had a tiny blaster hidden in her bodice as backup.

In order to meet Bastila in her quarters, preferably alone, they had needed security clearance to go there. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the opportunity had presented itself to them today. Thankful Klatooiners had sent many gifts to the Republic and the Jedi for the liberation of their planet, many had been addressed to prominent Jedi. While none of the Jedi would ever accept any of the gifts for themselves, except perhaps the odd lightsaber crystal or tarisian chocolate pack, they were all expected to at least look at them before distributing them to the needy or selling them and using the money to help the less fortunate. Jaq and Visas had recently manoeuvred themselves into a position where they were the ones to be assigned to the task of taking those gifts to Bastila.

They walked quickly thought the station, taking turns to push the trolley with gifts in. The elevator that went to the restricted upper levels was located in the central point of the space station, but due to the spiralling passages it was the hardest place to reach. They reached it in the end, and Jaq inserted the access key he had been given. The door opened, and they entered, pushing the trolley with them.

Before the door closed though, a muscular arm caught it, and it opened again. Jaq's vision swam from the man's Jedi robes and purple cloak to his face. _Revan! What in the galaxy's name is he doing here? He's supposed to be systems away. Wait… that shutta never had scars running down his face. And what's with his ear?_ Jaq then took in his purple over-cloak. _Pure pazaak, he fits the description of Marka Cabanic. But does that mean that Marka is actually Revan in disguise? It _would _be a tactic to evade attacks, he still has plenty of enemies in the Republic. Or are they really different people, perhaps they're related. I have to play this carefully, if it is Revan he might remember me, and I am known as an accomplice of Jezebel._

"What floor?" said the Jedi as he entered.

"Third please, Master Jedi," replied Visas. She was probably unaware of what a perilous situation this man had just put them in.

"That's the female officers and Jedi living quarters," said the Jedi, more to himself than them as he pressed the button.

"And where are you going, sir," said Visas politely.

"Same," he grunted, cutting off further conversation.

When they started accelerating upwards, Jaq could not contain himself any longer. "Are you …Marka" he burst out, nearly giving himself away by saying 'Revan'.

The other mans brows furrowed slightly, and he replied, "Yes," before turning to face the door; again cutting off any further discussion. He seemed cold and quite unsociable.

Jaq made sure as they went up that his Force-presence was concealed, he hoped that Visas was doing the same. Even though his Force-senses were muted through concealing his presence, he could still feel the aura of power that this man radiated. He wondered briefly if this man could possibly be strong enough to put an end to his lady Jezebel, then he dismissed the wild fantasy. Jezebel was many times more powerful than the most powerful Jedi ever, hers was the equivalent to hundreds of Jedi combined; and it grew greater as she killed. She would never be defeated, it was impossible. And he would be her slave for the rest of his life.

The door opened, and the three of them stepped out. The Jedi headed off immediately, clearly knowing where he was going. Jaq and Visas though had never been in this area of the space-station before, and milled around for a bit before heading in the same direction; pushing the trolley ahead of them. They just had to find Bastila's room now.

Jaq was glad to be free of the Jedi's oppressive presence, whoever he truly was. During his years as an assassin Jaq had come into contact with many dangerous men, and women. He had developed during that time a sense that allowed him to predict potentially dangerous situations; and gauge how dangerous people he met were. That man had definitely made into his top ten, no, top five.

60...62...64! That was the room number they'd been told to go to. Jaq gave his needle-launching wristband a quick check, before buzzing the room.

"Who is it?" a female voice said through the speaker after a moment.

"Sergeant Aron Rad and lance corporal Issa here to drop off gifts for Grandmaster Bastila Oneiro from Klatooine," Jaq replied. Those were the fake names that they were using. They had purposefully chosen ones close to their real names so that if their real ones were said in their presence and they reacted to them they would have an excuse.

"Come in." The door slid open.

As Jaq pushed the trolley into the room, he caught sight of the woman he supposed was Bastila. Certainly she matched the description of her. A slender, palely beautiful woman with shockingly dark hair and massive blue eyes. She was sitting on her bed, regarding them calmly. She wasn't alone, the Jedi they had met in the lift was there as well, his hard blue gaze piercing Jaq's soul and making him feel instantly guilty. For the first time in months, Jaq felt a thrill of fear run up his spine. How were they going to complete their mission without one of these two chopping them into bite-sized pieces?

"Really, they shouldn't have," said Bastila, and started getting up.

The other Jedi was fast, he put his hand on Bastila's shoulder, forcing her down again. Turning to Jaq, he said, "Leave, now."

"Marka?!" Bastila gasped. She seemed about to say more, but a look from him silenced her.

"Actually, we were tasked with helping the Grandmaster sort through all of them," said Visas. Jaq clenched his jaw, hoping that her shallow ruse would work.

"You are a Miraluka right, Issa?" said the Jedi.

"Y…yes, Master."

"I can sense the Force in you, you have the potential to become a Jedi."

Jaq cursed under his breath as Visas stammered her refusal, she hadn't concealed her Force-presence properly. The last thing they wanted was to be brought into the Jedi order, and be caught in a massive war between the Jedi and the Sith. Fortunately the Jedi seemed to accept her hastily made-up excuses.

"Very well," he said, "Your order to help Bastila is countermanded, by me. I will help her with organising these things, you can go."

Jaq thought fast for an reason to stay, but there was no way as a Republic soldier he could reasonably ignore the Jedi Master's instruction. To attack now would be foolish, the Revan-like man was being extremely cautious; and to voice further objection would only serve to make him even more so. With luck, there would be other opportunities. So he nodded to Visas, they saluted and turned to leave.

"I will be placing an armed Jedi guard on you from now on," the Jedi said to Bastila audibly as Jaq left the room. Jaq had to control his expressions carefully, he was sure that the Jedi was saying that purely to elicit a reaction from him or Visas. Just how deeply did he suspect them?

Jaq controlled himself carefully until they were back in the elevator, when he finally allowed his facial muscles to relax and his rage to show. Damn that man, he had ruined everything. At the same time though, Jaq was almost glad that their plan had gone wrong. While Jezebels plan would now be stalled, he and Visas would now be spending more time together. And he had to admire the man who had put a stop to their plan; Revan, Marka, whoever he was. Jaq wished he was his subordinate, not Jezebels.

Unfortunately, if that man intended to fulfill his promise of placing guards on Bastila, then Jaq and Visas would have to give up on trying to capture Bastila and move onto plan B. That was what they had been wanting to avoid at all costs.

They would kidnap the son of Revan.

------------------------------------------------

"That was uncalled for," Bastila growled as soon as the door closed, "You all but accused them of being traitors."

"It was a necessary precaution," Marka said tonelessly.

"You can be a real bastard at times," said Bastila angrily, "Pray tell, how exactly was that even _slightly _necessary."

"I didn't trust the man. He has undoubtedly received training in the Force."

"I didn't sense anything."

Marka nodded, "That's exactly it, everybody except the Force-dead has a small Force aura. This man's one was far too small, even for a normal sentient. The only ones with such a small Force aura are those with an inbuilt resilience to the Force, like the Hutts. He was controlling his Force aura, but too rigidly." It was a common enough mistake by those who sought to hide, one that only the most cautious could pick up on.

Bastila's angry expression faded, replaced by a thoughtful one. "There could be many explanations for that. He could be a Jedi who just didn't want to rejoin the order when it reformed."

"And join the Military instead? I don't think so, Bastila. More likely he was a Sith under Malak, in which he case he could be out for vengeance against you! There is a chance that he was here to kill you, not a large one, but enough to concern me.

"There's a couple of other things that concerned me about our meeting. Firstly, he was too rigid, too tense the whole way through. Secondly, he was unhappy to find me in your room, his eyes gave it away. Thirdly, he didn't want it to be known that his companion was Force sensitive, possibility she is also trained in Jedi/Sith arts. Lastly, I got the impression that my appearance caused him some distress, which means that he's met Revan; or at least knows what he looks like."

"You think… he has?" Bastila gasped.

"There is a good chance," Marka replied.

They continued discussing the two soldiers case for a while, and Marka was able to convince Bastila to agree to extra security measures. She wasn't too thrilled, but she did see the necessity of them. They spent a while arguing how much security she would need.

"So what was your original intention of coming here?" said Bastila, obvious bored with the argument.

"Can't just seeing you be reason enough?" said Marka.

"Ha ha, you're not like that," she stated dryly, "You mentioned before that you'd just received something, or something like that."

"It was the results for the blood test comparing Never's and my genes."

Bastila turned white, "You took some of his blood! When?"

"He gave me some on Telos."

"So what were the results?"

Marka pulled a folded sheet from his pocket, "The results were interesting, to say the least," he said, "I'll start with our female line. Both of our mothers were undoubtedly related, although it is unclear how close they were."

"So you two are related," Bastila breathed, "You certainly look similar enough. Any other information about them?"

Marka looked down at the sheet. "Never's mother was about 1,75m tall; had a tendency towards slimness; dark to medium hair; light blue eyes, but carried the brown-eye gene; very strong Force potential." He stalled for a bit, flipping through the pages, "That's about all that's relevant." He didn't really think that Bastila would be interested in the fact that she likely had wonky teeth, they would have been corrected by surgery in any case.

"And yours?"

"1,7m; also tended towards slimness but less so than the other; medium to light hair; blue eyes but also carried the dark eye gene; very strong Force potential." He flipped through the pages again. "And she probably had a large nose."

Bastila immediately had her hand in his face, measuring his nose. "I think you take after her," she said seriously.

"My nose is not big!" Marka growled, then saw that she was grinning impishly. "Childish," he muttered, but the corners of his mouth twitched. Bastila was suppressing a laugh.

To prevent her from teasing him further, he read further down the report. "This is where it gets really interesting. The man I thought was my father, Harn Cabanic, would have been described as about 1,75m; solid build; medium brown hair; light brown eyes; notable to strong Force potential. But my actual father is, or was, 1,85m tall; solid to slim build; dark hair; dark blue eyes; exceptionally strong Force potential."

"So Harn wasn't your father. Any chance of there being a mistake somewhere?"

Marka's eyes were hard. "No. He was my father, just not the man who sired me."

"I'm sorry," said Bastila softly, "This can't have been easy to you to hear, especially so soon after…" she trailed off, realising that she'd probably said too much.

Marka's jaw clenched, but he continued on as though had happened. "When I said 'exceptionally strong Force potential', the people at the lab had no records of anything that came close, even among Jedi Masters," he explained, "Except for Never's and my potential."

"So your father is, or was, a Sith Master?"

"We don't have enough data on how genes affect Force-ability to say for sure, they've only drawn a link between Force-potential and Genes in recent years. And it could be that the testing methods are faulty. But I would guess so, yes."

"Any idea's which one?"

"Not really, but I when I was in the Empire I heard on occasion that I resembled Hrayn Babbadon."

"Remind me who that is again."

"The highest ranked and strongest of all the Sith Masters. He is the third most powerful Sith, under only the Dark Lord and his apprentice."

Bastila sat thinking for a short while, absently shuffling through the gifts she had been sent. Marka meanwhile got and made himself a cup of caffa at Bastila's dispenser. Extra strong with no sweetener, just the way he liked it. He took a sip, and had to juggle it between his cheeks before he could swallow. Too hot.

"So did the report say anything about my husbands father, my father-in-law?" said Bastila, examining a multicoloured glass bowl.

"Same," said Marka shortly, his eyes hardening and boring into her skull.

Bastila's brows furrowed momentarily, then her eyes widened. Her breath came short and she felt a cold numbness grip her body. Her muscles failed her, and grip slipped, the bowl in her hand fell and smashed. The sharp sound roused her enough to speak. "What! You mean…"

"We share a common father. Never is my half-brother."


	10. Unwitting Attraction

**Star Wars: The Dark Empire**

**Episode 2 - Jenesis**

**Part 10 - Unwitting Attraction **

_Two and a half months later (three and a half months after the battle of the Telos Polar Academy)_

**Fondor, Wilderness**

"So you came," a voice spoke out nowhere.

Hanharr roared with rage. I can smell him, let me kill; kill NOW! he howled.

Jezebel shot him an icy glance, and the wookiee backed down immediately. Mad as he was, he still knew better than to test his mistress.

Jezebel had recently got into contact with Korgul, the leader of Phantoms, through her contacts on Nal Hutta. She had done her research on him and knew that he could possibly be the only one in the galaxy capable of killing her. But if their goals were compatible, he could well be a powerful ally. She shivered with pleasure, the excitement coupled with fear was an emotion she hadn't felt for a long time. The morning wind was crisp and clear, but the pungent scent of industry was still evident.

There are many of them, hiding all around, growled the wookiee.

Although Jezebel had been allowed to bring up to five followers with her, she had chosen to bring just Hanharr. The only others that had skills that would of use to her were Jaq and Visas, and both were still abroad. The rest of her followers were little more than drones, existing to do her bidding. The way she had bonded them to her meant that there was no chance of them betraying her, she was still smarting at the loss of Bao-Dur and Mical, but at the same time their potential usefulness had been stunted. Looking back, it had probably been a mistake to exert so much control over them, they were little more than baggage to her now.

"I'm surprised you didn't bring more of your people with you, Exile," said the voice that she supposed belonged to Korgul. He appeared about twenty meters in front of her, shimmering as his strange stealth-suit deactivated. "My reports would have me believe you have nearly a sixty retainers."

"I don't need them, assassin," she replied smugly, "I know you have snipers trained on me, order them to open fire." If she impressed him with her power early on, negotiations would be far easier.

The assassin shrugged, and raised his left hand with one finger extended. Instantly five high-powered laser rifles fired, their searing bolts aimed for her most vital parts. A powerful Jedi would have been able to stop one of those bolts with the Force, had he known exactly where it was coming from and when it was going to come (which was, of course, impossible when the sniper was Force-dead), but it would have taxed them greatly. Jezebel though had been maintaining an invisible shield for the best part of an hour with little effort on her part, one so solid few would even be able to comprehend its strength. The five bolts dissipated immediately upon striking it.

What happened next though she wasn't prepared for. The assassin lord sprinted at her with impossible speed, covering the ground between them in two seconds flat. Hanharr was quick, drawing his blades and positioning himself between Korgul and his mistress with a roar. But even he seemed slow against the assassins terrifying swiftness, Korgul slipped past the wookiee before he had even had a chance to raise his blade to strike.

Jezebel's shield was strong enough to stop a good sized ship, but an instant after he was past the wookiee he slid through the shield as though it was not even there. Alarmed, Jezebel unleashed a Force-wave strong enough to demolish a whole block of buildings. The ground churned around Korgul, and Hanharr was sent flying into the trees, but the assassin lord was only slowed. The only thing that seemed to have effected him was the artificial wind that had been created by the massive wave, not the wave itself. Still he came. Desperately she reached for her lightsaber.

Since she was facing the Force-dead, Jezebel had not bothered to put up her normal defences against Force-based attacks. Thus she was completely surprised when Korgul struck her with a Force-wave from nearly point-blank range. She spun through the air, her weapon flying out of her hand, and landed hard on her mechanical side, the wind forced out of her lungs. Immediately Korgul was upon her, his silver lightsaber ignited and at her throat.

"What are you?" Jezebel gasped coarsely.

She had known that this man was dangerous, if the rumours were true he had fought against both Revan and his look-alike Marka at the same time, and emerged from it better than the other two, but she hadn't expected him to be able to make short work of her. Jezebel knew that even facing five Jedi of Revan's power she would be easily able to prevail, and based on that had assumed that she would be able to beat Korgul, even if he was a potential threat to her. She could almost hear Malak's voice in her head, lecturing her and the other Jedi Generals years back. _Never assume anything in war, it is unforgivable, it costs lives, and could very well end your own._

"I am Korgul Juglur, the Dark Lord's assassin," said the man, pulling off his mask with his free hand. Jezebels mouth worked soundlessly when she saw his gleaming red eyes. "You are Jezebel the Exile, and you are going to help me capture Marka Cabanic. In return, I will help you to kill the one you call Revan, not because it was your requirement for partnership; but because it suits _my_ purpose. From now on, you belong to me."

Jezebel had misjudged gravely. While she had been obsessed with killing Revan, the man who had damaged her so badly, she had never intended to become the slave of another in order to do so. She was in too deep to back out now, she had to complete her revenge. But she would not suffer a leash for long. In her heart, she vowed that as soon as Revan was dead, she would break free of this bondage and find a way to kill Korgul.

------------------------------------------------

**Marka's apartment, mid-upper levels of Coruscant**

Marka woke with the dawn's first light glowing in his room. He slowly raised his head, stretching his neck muscles. Then he sat up, rolling his shoulders back to get the blood flowing. Next he isolated his body's pressure points and pressed on each of them, awakening his nerve centres and muscle groups. Finally, he got up, stretching back and reaching for the ceiling. As he came down, his gaze passed his loose sleeping pants, and he let out a quiet string of curses. Why did he always have to wake up in this state?

He looked back to the other side of his double bed. Not surprisingly, it was empty. It was his morning ritual, to check that in fact Kaya was really gone and it hadn't all just been a bad dream. Of course, if she had still been alive it was unlikely that she would have been on Coruscant at the same time as him, but it was his way of honouring her memory.

Few would ever be able to fathom the depth of his loss. She had been his soul, his conscience; he had come to the light side because of her; she had played a massive part in his decision to leave the Sith. After the death of his father she had been the one he had been living for; although he hadn't realised it at the time. He had agreed to come to the Republic because of her, Never had played a part there too, but Marka never would have agreed to the plan had Kaya not brought it up first. Everything he had done since his fathers death, perhaps even before that, had been because of her. And now she was gone, the centre on his universe had departed, his world was shattered.

He could still feel the hole in his heart where she used to reside, the feeling of constant closeness and warmth no matter how far they were away from each other. At any given time he could have pointed in the exact direction she'd been, no matter how far away she was. The security that came with the knowledge that she loved him, and trusted him; despite all he had been; despite all he'd done. Gone, all gone, forever. What he wouldn't give to be able to hold her in his arms one last time, to squeeze her close to his heart, tell her how much she meant to him, how much he loved her. He hadn't told her enough, if he'd spent every waking moment they'd had together telling her it still wouldn't have been enough. Force, how he missed her.

"Damn it, Kaya, why did you have to die in such a stupid way?" he cried out suddenly, half expecting her ghost to show up and explain it to him.

"Master Marka, did you want something?" said Danio, entering his room. Her mouth parted slightly and a blush formed on her face at seeing him topless. Then her gaze lowered to the tent at the front of his pants, and her eyes widened.

Marka felt his face burn, but didn't change his expression or attempt to cover himself. "'Morning Danio, can you prepare a cooked breakfast for me?"

"Y…yes, master," she muttered, guiltily tearing her eyes off him.

"Thank you," he said curtly, and headed to the refresher.

Danio was a refugee from Lannik, her entire family had been killed or reported missing during the fighting there. Lydale, Marka's old padawan who had recently become a knight, had found her trying to make a living selling trinkets on Onderon a few weeks ago, and organised for her to be Marka's housekeeper in his Coruscant apartment. Most of the time he wasn't even there, so she just got a free place to stay.

Lydale's reasoning behind the move was painfully obvious. He was trying to set Marka up with this girl. She was around eighteen years, shy, beautiful, and in total awe of him. She even bore a passing resemblance to Kaya. Her eyes and hair were different though, hazel instead of blue and sandy-straight instead of reddish brown-curled.

But Marka wasn't interested. While he was aware that he would sooner or later have to get over Kaya and move on, it would be with a woman that he could respect as an individual, an equal. This woman, this _girl_, was far beneath him. While she was in awe of his image and attracted to him, she knew nothing about him.

Marka entered the bathroom and pulled off his pants, after first making sure that the door was closed and locked behind him. He got into the refresher, and turned on the streams of hot, steaming water. Raising his head to the downpour, he allowed it to purge all of his thoughts. If only it could wash away his pain as easily as the grit and sweat.

His next lover, or wife, would have to be someone just as amazing as Kaya had been; or he would remain a widower for the rest of his life.

------------------------------------------------

**Ossus, City ruins**

Morning's were Dustil's favourite part of the day. Besides the shimmering colours in the sky, it was the only time when the air on Ossus was truly clean, free of the ash and dust particles that the noon and midnight winds would raise. That ash currently covered everything in a thick, fluffy layer. When the wind was strong enough, the air would become unbreathable with the copious amounts in it. The strongest winds would make it move so fast that it could strip paint off vehicles, or the flesh of ones body. Those ash-storms were the main reason why the planet hadn't been resettled yet, despite having a habitual atmosphere and tens of thousands of square kilometers of unclaimed land.

Dustil meditated slowly, his back to a dead tree. He didn't know why, but this was the one place where he could reach a state of inner peace, the only place he had ever known that had this effect on him. He had heard spacers talk of a mysterious 'tree of knowledge', which would impart wisdom if one was to sit under it for long enough. Perhaps this had once been that tree, certainly it was the only stump that remained on the planet where even the tallest buildings had been reduced to a single story of rubble.

"I knew you'd be here," said a voice, "My visions never lie."

Dustil had heard that voice before, but something was blocking his brain from knowing who it belonged to. He swivelled to his feet, staring at the newcomer. His eyes saw, but mind couldn't comprehend the face, it was like looking at nothing. He could see the rest of the newcomers body, whoever it was they were noticeably shorter than him. He; if it indeed was a he; was wearing pure white Jedi robes and carried a double-bladed lightsaber on one hip and a vibrosword on the other. _That's strange, _Dustil thought, _there's no way that both could be used at once_.

"Who are you," he demanded, "What are you doing here?"

"Only setting events in motion," said the other mysteriously, "You have a part to play in this too, Dustil Onasi."

"That doesn't explain who the hell you are," said Dustil angrily, setting his hands on his lightsabers threateningly.

"Morningstar."

"What kind of name is that?"

"My, my, you don't get out much," the stranger laughed, "Ramon truly has kept you all isolated from the rest of the galaxy. I suppose you don't even know that the Republic is at war with the Hutts, or that the Dark Lord's left hand; Korgul Juglur; is helping them."

"Who cares?" said Dustil forcibly, "We're training for the war with the true Sith, I will be one of the elite Jedi at the forefront of the war effort. Who cares what else is happening in the galaxy."

For the last four months, council member Ramon Naj had been training Dustil and forty-nine others on the secluded planet. He had taught them a lot about the Force and its combat applications, but the true focus of his training had been on lightsaber forms. Once they had mastered the initial seven (Shii-cho, Makashi, Soresu, Ataru, Shien, Jisu and Sokan) they had moved onto and learned the four advanced forms (Niman, Juyo, Trakata and Dun Moch). The final goal was for them to be able to learn and master the twelfth and ultimate form, Yoshi Ma. Most of the students had progressed to the level where they had begun training with it, Dustil was nearing the stage where he could be considered competent enough to use it in battle; such had been his desire to learn; his compulsion to get strong enough to avenge his wife's death. He was still a long way achieving full mastery though.

"You should. Your father was killed nearly three months ago, he was buried two weeks later."

Dustil stared at Morningstar incredulously, "You lie!" he cried, "They would have made sure to tell me."

"Not if they thought it would thought it would set you on the dark path, when you've made so much progress recently in controlling your inner demons. Search your feelings if you have to, you know it's true."

Dustil fell to his knees, shock written all over his face. "What happened, he should have been safe, he was well guarded…he should have been…protected…"

"He was attacked outside his room, and disarmed - literally. Then he was beheaded." The stranger who called himself Morningstar spoke factually, without a hint of emotion in his voice. He almost sounded detached, as though truly didn't care what effect his words were making on him.

"Who did this?" Dustil growled, slowly getting up. He hadn't been on the best terms with his father, but he still loved him. He was the only family Dustil had had left.

"The suspects are…"

"I didn't ask who you suspected, I ASKED WHO KILLED MY FATHER!" he screamed. His body trembled with rage, his eyes were unnaturally wide and staring. Small pebbles started to levitate around him.

"…Korgul, the Dark Lord's assassin," said Morningstar. He was unnaturally calm, as though he had already known what reaction Dustil's reaction would be.

"Blood calls for blood, I will avenge my father," Dustil muttered to himself, getting control over his power and anger. The pebbles dropped all at once, raising a small cloud of dust that quickly began to settle. Then he spoke up, "Tell me where I can find him."

Morningstar handed him an activation clip, "I'm going to help you," he explained, and pointed to a section of ruins. "There is a craft capable of hyperspace hidden there, it is for you. Inside there is a communicator that will allow me to keep in contact with you, and guide you to your target. But before you leave, there is something you must obtain to defeat Korgul."

"I suppose you will expect something in return for helping me?" said Dustil, narrowing his eyes. "Name your price."

"I want nothing from you, Dark Jedi, all I ask in return is that afterwards you would direct all your energies into saving the Republic."

Morningstar walked up to the dead, burned tree Dustil had been meditating under, and placed a white-gloved hand on it. "This is all that remains of the Neti Jedi Master, Ood Bnar. His presence still lingers in the air, creating the aura of peace that undoubtedly drew you here. He sacrificed himself during the Sith war to protect a cache of Jedi treasures from the Dark Lord Exar Kun. Those included some of the first lightsabers ever created, it was those that the Jedi Master was protecting. But besides ancient lightsabers, holocron recordings and scrolls, there was a far greater treasure hidden that neither Jedi Master nor Dark Lord was aware of. And a good thing too.

"Hidden within the largest scroll-box in the cache are a pair of swords dating back to a time before lightsabers were invented, dating back to the earliest days of the Jedi order when those who followed the light side and the dark side were still united; if not in perfectly in harmony. They were never used, the first great schism happened first. The Legions of Lettow, the Dark Jedi, lost the war and were exiled. The Jedi retained possession of the swords, but the council forbade their use, so they were hidden away; and eventually forgotten about."

"The first great schism, that was over twenty thousand years ago," Dustil said, trying to sound calm, "How the hell do you know this? And why weren't the swords used, if they are as powerful as you say?"

"It is enough that I know," said Morningstar, cryptic as a Jedi Master. "As to the other, what you must understand is that the swords draw on the users resonance. One feeds off the dark side, while the other strengthens through the light side. But without the full use of its partner, each sword is no better than a ordinary one. To unlock their true power, the user must achieve perfect harmony between the two extremes of light and darkness."

"So with these I can defeat Korgul?"

"No you cannot, not alone. But if you have the right person fighting at your side, then you could win."

"Who, Marka, Ramon?" said Dustil, quickly thinking of the best lightsaber duellists he knew, "Revan, or is it you?"

"You'll see," said Morningstar mysteriously.

"And these swords are hidden under that tree that used to be a Jedi Master, with a lot of rusty lightsabers and mouldy tombs?"

"Yes."

"And all I have to do is dig them up and fly off to the place you tell me to?"

"Yes. You think you can do that?" There was more than a hint of sarcasm in the others voice, and Dustil bristled with anger.

"How do I know you aren't intending to lead me into a trap. Why should I trust somebody who won't even show their face?" he snarled.

"Because you have no choice," said Morningstar simply, and clicked his fingers. There was a snap-hiss of a lightsaber, it ignited right next to Dustil's neck. He fought the urge to jump away as another figure materialised behind him, he hadn't even felt her presence. Cautiously he looked from the golden blade to its wielder, who was dressed in the same style as Morningstar, except her robes were grey. It was cut differently along the chest though, in a more feminine style, accenting her breasts. Her face wasn't indistinguishable like Morningstar's, but in a grey theatre mask that covered all except her bottom jaw. Her eyes were hazel, and a few strands of blonde hair hung loose in front of them. She was short, noticeably shorter than Morningstar even. Dustil couldn't help but find her attractive.

"If we had wanted you dead, you would be dead," said the newcomer softly, before lowering her lightsaber and de-activating it with a hiss. She started walking away, the air shimmered around her and she disappeared from sight.

"We'll be in touch," said Morningstar, and pressed a button on his belt. A moment later he had vanished as well.

------------------------------------------------

**Coruscant, Jedi Temple, Training roomb**

Marka had been training for three hours, dried sweat caked his body in a thin layer of salt. His hair was matted, damp and untidy. His muscles ached and begged for a break, but Marka was far from done. Today he was building up his combat endurance, something that had failed him badly during his last fight with Korgul. He adjusted his short loose-fitting pants, his only item of clothing, and continued.

Ever since he had had his real feet replaced by the Mandalorian iron ones, he had been prone to get tired more quickly than he had used to. It was hardly surprising, considering that while they had replaced a three kilogram piece of flesh and bone, they weighed twelve kilos. Extra weight in the leg region tired one far faster than treble the weight on the shoulders would. Since he couldn't possibly reduce the weight without resorting to weak plasteel replacements, he simply had to get strong enough to be able to work with them. Besides, he quite liked the combat possibilities that having retractable claws and lightsaber-proof feet gave him. It was something no other Jedi or Sith would have, and could well give his a surprise advantage in the foreseeable future.

Marka finished his ninety-second break between sets, and was about to continue when the door gave a warning beep and opened with a hiss. He grabbed his sweat-towel and swung it around his shoulders, mildly surprised that somebody was interrupting his session. He didn't bother to feel for a Force-signature, whoever it was, it had better be important.

It was Bastila. She waltzed through the doorway and said, "My, my, your thighs are big. Is that natural?"

"No, but necessary, with all this extra weight," he replied, pointing to his metallic feet and ankles.

"Put on some clothes," she said, throwing his discarded robes to him, "And stop scowling, its so close to your normal expression I can barely tell the difference."

The tone in her voice somehow cut through his constant melancholy, and drew anger to the surface. Marka took a breath to keep his voice calm.

"Did you come here just to insult me," he said, "Or is there actually something that we need to discuss."

"There are always going to be things that we need to discuss," Bastila replied, "Considering the scope of our responsibility, we could never spend enough time doing that. But yes, something has come up."

"Good or bad," said Marka, starting to dress. He could feel her eyes on him, something that would normally annoy him, but instead his face heated up.

"Hard to say. Morningstar's appeared on Kashyyyk, and taken twenty-eight initiates. They don't seem to have been abducted, rather that they went willingly."

Since Morningstar's appearance shortly after the battle for the Telos Academy three months before, he had been so active that it had become a popular saying in the Republic to 'look to the Morningstar' when one was in trouble. He had rescued refugees, saved individuals in various perilous situations, stopped raging infernos from engulfing entire cities, disarmed militia bands and done countless other noteworthy and noble deeds. Scarcely a day went by when Marka wasn't hearing about something that Morningstar had done. So far, that one person had done as much as the entire Jedi order and Republic combined in terms of relief efforts. More than anything, he was giving hope to the people.

"Why would he do that?" said Marka, not really expecting an answer.

Bastila passed him a list of the names of those taken. He looked over them, and the notes about each initiate that were attached. Out of the entire group, only twelve could possibly become Jedi Knights, and just two of them had the potential to become truly powerful. He had to put it down to put on his vest.

"He didn't exactly take a good quality bunch," said Bastila, echoing his thoughts. "I suppose he's doing us a favour, presuming that he's going to train these people."

"Are you going to call a council meeting over it?"

"No need, there's nothing we can do about it anyway. It'll be on our agenda in the next one."

Marka had finished dressing, he strapped on his utility belt with his double-bladed lightsaber attached. "I would like to meet with this 'Morningstar' person, whoever he is. He'd make a good council member."

"We already have a full Jedi council," said Bastila stiffly.

"We are at war, Bastila," Marka reminded her, "We've already lost some of our best Jedi." His voice wavered slightly, but firmed as he continued. "It's too much to hope that we won't lose any more, even if we don't there will be a place available in the council when we find the traitor in our ranks. There are precious few Jedi ready to step into council positions, the few that there are; are ex-Sith. And you know how well that sits with the other Jedi."

Bastila nodded. They both knew how reluctant the others had been to accept Venoak onto the council, and he was the one who followed the Jedi ways the best out of all the ex-Sith. They had only accepted him in the end because Marka had been promised four seats on the council when they had first come to the Republic, it had been part of the deal when the ex-Sith had joined the order. With his wife Kaya's death there had been one seat empty.

"Even still, you are _not _going to use your leave to find this person," Bastila's voice was quiet, but firm, and her eyes flashed dangerously.

"Why not?" Marka retorted, refusing to back down. "While I am resting easy, thanks to _you_, other men are fighting and dying. I should be doing something useful."

"For the fiftieth time, you were long overdue for leave," said Bastila exasperatedly, "You had refused to take a break on numerous occasions, even after three months on the front line. No soldier will spend more than a month there before he is rotated. I'd been getting reports of you taking strain, and behaving erratically at times. You had to be pulled out, and I was the only one with enough authority to make sure that happened."

Marka remembered quite clearly how a few days ago four Jedi, led by Bastila herself, had appeared in the forward base and frog marched him to the spaceship that took him back to Coruscant. Just to make sure he didn't hijack it and turn it around, Bastila had accompanied him for the entire journey, and even threatened to tie him up if he didn't behave. The experience had been downright humiliating.

"I couldn't have rotated, there was no-one who could have taken my place. And what if they attack, while both of us are away," said Marka, trying a different tack. He didn't really hold a grudge, well maybe a small one, but his pride hadn't fully recovered yet.

"That's not likely, there's been a lull in the fighting these past few weeks. But if it happens, then I will go back," said Bastila calmly, "But not you, you are going to complete your leave, I don't care what comes up. I need my best Jedi at peak condition when we invade Nal Hutta."

She obviously wasn't about to change her mind, so Marka relented, "Very well, for your sake I will complete my required amount of leave."

"You make it sound like a prison sentence," she joked.

Marka sighed in reply, unsure how to respond. He wasn't a particularly emotionally in-tune man, but he couldn't help but be aware that something important had just transpired. In his heart, he knew that something was changing between them, he wasn't entirely sure what, but he was beginning to suspect. She was watching out for him far more closely than her position required her to, and the feelings he had been getting around her recently were not ones usually associated with friendship. Worse, he was becoming increasingly certain that those feeling were reciprocated.

"Bastila…" he began, but when he turned to face her he found his gaze locked with hers, and his words died. Her liquid aqua eyes seemed to reach into his very soul, his mouth dried up and he froze like a hopper caught in searchlight's beam. Light, how was it even possible for someone to convey so much emotion with a simple gaze. He watched, fascinated, as the tip of her tongue flicked out slightly to wet her lips. He gulped dryly, and backed away so fast that he nearly tripped over his own feet.

"Would you… would you like to spar with me," he said, quickly thinking up an excuse for his behaviour. He doubted it would fly, it seemed shallow even to him, but was surprised when she agreed to it. Marka's head was spinning as he went to retrieve the training staffs, but he knew one thing for certain. Life with Bastila had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

------------------------------------------------

**Nar Shaddaa, Refugee Sector**

Never hadn't been to the smugglers moon for many years, not since before his fall. The change since then was impossible to miss. While even before it had been a haven for the worst kinds of people, at least when they'd been here they had behaved themselves, the toughs employed by the Hutts effectively keeping the peace. It had been built on the backs of taxes that the Hutts had taken from smugglers and other criminals using it as a base of operations, they had reinvested the money into the infrastructure in the hope of attracting more people; and it had. While they had all been profiting off organised crime, at least they had all been profiting.

All that had changed in the last decade.

With the constant warring and uncertainty in the Republic, people naturally had got afraid. They had all quickly grabbed what they could for themselves, not daring to invest in any ventures. Such a fear was contagious, and with a loss of capital there had been a massive recession. With everybody watching their few possessions so carefully, crime suddenly didn't pay nearly as much as it used to. Smuggling still was, but so many more people had got into it that those on the smugglers moon had to either move closer to their routes or suffered a massive disadvantage. Nowhere were the signs of this the recession apparent than on Nar Shaddaa. It was now a festering cesspit, where murder and worse happened constantly. There was not even a semblance of order any more.

Never did not like the Hutts, especially since they had sided with Korgul against the Republic; but here they had been the local law enforcers. Now they could barely uphold it in their own palaces. The current state of affairs was as bad for them as anyone else, while many Hutts made their living off crime they generally focused on long-range operations that would be difficult to link to them; they definitely did not want it happening in their backyard.

"Fair makes me sick, it does," said Hugas, referring to the dark aura the place radiated.

Never nodded. "It was a mistake for me to leave," he said quietly.

They were standing just outside the docking bay, looking out into the city square. Everybody moved differently, making sure that they were in groups, some staying in the open so that they could see attacks coming, others only moving from shadow to shadow; hoping not to be spotted. Every one of them was armed.

"You can't be serious," his padawan laughed, "This has got to be the most light-forsaken place in the galaxy."

"I wasn't talking about this moon," he replied, "It was a mistake for me to leave the Republic. I never thought things would get this bad."

"Then why did you?"

"Partially guilt, I had betrayed the Republic to make it strong enough to beat the Sith Empire. I did the wrong thing for all the right reasons, and it backfired terribly. That backfires name was Malak, he only reigned as Dark Lord for a year, but the Republic is still counting the cost. After his death, and the destruction of the Star Forge, word quickly got out that Revan was alive; and redeemed.

"Suddenly nobody would treat me like a man anymore, they would either hate and try to kill me or worship the ground I trod on. For a year I tried to live quietly with Bastila, helping out where I could. But the rest of the galaxy refused to leave me alone. Then my memories started returning, and I remembered why I had betrayed the Republic in the first place."

"I already know the story; how you ran off and raised a rebellion on the Sith planets. Why are you telling me again?"

"Because I realise now that I should have persevered. If I had stayed, things would be different, I just know it. We wouldn't be in this desperate situation."

Hugas put a hand on his shoulder, and gripped it firmly. "I'm going to repeat some of your own advice back to you, Master," he said, "We cannot change the past, and no amount of regretting will achieve anything. All we can do is learn from it, and take those lessons forward into the here and now; so that we can create a brighter future."

Never blinked, "You were listening?"

"Amazing, isn't it?"

At that moment, a clip-on on Never's belt began to beep. Hugas frowned, and asked what it was.

"It's a link to the ship that tells me if there's anybody has left a message for me,"

"But then someone knows where we are!"

"Not if we don't answer. It's probably Marka, telling me about some development I should be aware of."

They walked back to the corvette, to the surprise of the docking attendant who had just seen them leave. Entering through the low ramp, they made came into a central room where the holo-generator was situated. There was indeed a recording waiting for them, but not one from Marka. This one was from a person they had never met before, but had heard no end of rumours about. Morningstar, the shining light of hope in the Republic. A person who had done so much it made him seem lazy. The message he had left though was nothing short of shocking, Never felt his body go numb just listening to it. As soon as it was over, he walked past his even more stunned apprentice, and entered the coordinates in the navicomputor.

They were going back to Coruscant.

------------------------------------------------

**Coruscant, Jedi Temple**

Bastila walked through the familiar corridors of the Jedi temple, wiping the sweat off her neck and forehead with one of Marka's purple towels. Their sparring match had been remarkably close, and she had ultimately prevailed over the better-trained Marka. Of course, he had been pretty tired from his training even before they had started, she had gone in fresh. Still, a victory was a victory, and it proved that her training with him had paid off; even if the Suppression War had cut out most of their one-on-one tuition.

Her thoughts and emotions regarding Marka though were so jumbled she didn't even know where to start. Something had happened when she had been talking to him, she wasn't quite sure what. She had liked him for a long time, and carefully concealed that fact for fear of rejection. But if his reaction was anything to go by, he too had realised that things had changed between them.

At times like this, she knew that the best thing to do was to talk to a friend. The problem was that Bastila didn't have many friends. She had never been the most sociable person, and while she had many friendly acquaintances she had few true friends; and for some reason her friends all seemed to be male. She had been closest to Marka recently, but since he was the source of her confusion talking to him about it was out of the question. Her oldest friend had been Carth, but in an incident that had shaken the entire Republic military; he had been found beheaded outside his office. His head had never been recovered. Bastila had been beside herself with grief at the time, it had been Marka who had consoled her, Marka who had held her close and whispered sweet words of nothing. It had felt so good to mold her smaller body into his strong arms. But it was so wrong, she shouldn't have enjoyed it, not that way. Mentally she shook herself, she had to make sense of it before it drove her insane. She had to go with her third, and final, option.

So half an hour later she was sitting in the Temple cafeteria, across from Mical. She had managed to convince him to take a break from his ongoing investigation, long enough hear her out. Mical proved a remarkably good listener, only speaking to prompt her with questions. It took nearly an hour for her to get it all out of her system, she felt like she had run an emotional marathon by the end. The remains of their lunch had all gone cold.

"Tell me about your husband, Never; Revan; whatever you wish to call him," Mical said, staring into the distance.

"I love him of course," she replied quickly.

"But not as you used to," he said, glancing back at her, his blue eyes knowing. "Six years now, isn't it?"

"I know," she inclined her head, there was no use denying it, he already knew. "I thought I could hold onto my love for him forever. I haven't been able to feel my bond with him for nearly two years now, I'm starting to wonder if it ever existed."

"I've studied Force-bonds a lot," said Mical, leaning back on his chair and looking out at the other tables, "All bonds ever recorded by the Jedi. With the sole exception of those created by Jezebel, they are all made and maintained by the feelings of those involved in the bond. Time and distance were said to weaken Force-bonds, but in truth that is not the case. They simply weaken the feelings between those involved, thereby weakening the bond."

"But isn't love different?" said Bastila, "Love isn't just an emotion, it's a choice!"

"There are many different forms of love, Bastila. For compassionate love, yes, a choice is enough. You or I could see a drunk beggar on the side of the road, be totally disgusted by him, but still feel compassion enough to help. But the type of love one would feel for a lover or spouse, the erotic love, one needs a sense of attraction and closeness; amongst other things."

Bastila felt her face burn, her imagination going wild at the thought of 'other things'. Mical, conversely, appeared perfectly calm.

"So err-, intimate love is not possible without close contact with your partner?"

"Intimate love is what one has with family or close friends. It's not the same as erotic love, although it can be a part of it."

"I was using a euphemism!" Bastila muttered, blushing horribly.

"You've been married, had a child, and you're too embarrassed to use the word 'erotic'?" Mical looked politely puzzled.

Bastila took a breath. "I'm being irrational, aren't I?"

"You are. But that still doesn't explain what you're doing with Marka. Is it because he looks like your husband?"

"I wish it were that simple. But nothing in life or love is ever."

"Don't you think that the time when Never returns will be coming soon?" said Mical, "It seems a bit strange to me that after six years of waiting, you're ready to move on when he could be back in less than a month."

"He's running from his past, Mical, he's not coming back," replied Bastila, sighing, "Why do you think he insisted on being called Never, instead of Revan? He's still trying to hide. He shouldn't have run in the first place. If he had stayed, he could have easily set in motion the rebuilding of the Republic, as the strong leader he is. Instead he left, and let everything deteriorate and collapse behind him."

"That's not fair, Bastila," said Mical, "He went straight to the heart of the problem, the Sith Empire. He raised a rebellion that took them six months to put down."

"All it did was give them a chance to practise, a warm-up war if you like. I've spoken to many of the ex-Sith about it, they all agree. While it did cost them in terms of military resources, it was nothing substantial that wouldn't have been more than replaced by now. His leadership here would have done far more for our cause. And he can't return now even if he wanted to, not with Jezebel hunting him. Anywhere she thinks he is she burns to the ground."

"What if Jezebel is killed?"

"What if the universe ends tomorrow? You know better than anyone how powerful she is, even he wouldn't stand a chance against her. Even if she is stopped, he'll probably fly off somewhere else to wage his private war with his past."

Silence followed Bastila's angry declaration.

"Out of all of us; Marka is the one most responsible for the rebuilding of the Jedi and the Republic," she said, picking up a small piece of soft fruit, "Never should have done that. With the reputation he has, it would have been so much easier for him."

"It sounds like you've already made your decision," said Mical.

Startled, she clenched her hand. Fruit pulp sprayed out of both ends. Embarrassed now, she started to clean up the mess she'd made.

"Well, have you?" he prompted.

Bastila's answer was long in coming, extracting it was like pulling a vibrodagger from her body; it hurt like hell removing it but felt far better after. "Even if I have, I've got no way of knowing how he feels. It wasn't that long ago that his wife died. He probably hates me now," she said, her voice cracking with emotion.

"I doubt it," said Mical with a small smile, "He has a soft spot for you, even I can see that. I don't know if it goes any deeper than that, but I do know that he genuinely cares for you."

Bastila's body was racked with sobs. Tears streamed down her eyes, and she hiccupped. "I don't know what to do any more, Mical. I like him, I do, but I know I shouldn't. I wanted so much to wait for my husband, but I can't bear being alone any more. Oh Force, I'm such a bad person, aren't I?"

Mical stood up, and walking across to her. She looked up at him questioningly, with wet eyes. Slowly he lowered himself and wrapped his arms around her. Dilemma

"It's alright, just let it all out," he crooned, rocking her gently.

Bastila hugged him tightly, glad of his closeness and warmth. Then the sobs hit her again, and she buried her face in his shoulder. When they finally ran out, Mical took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. The feeling of being loved and cared for was intense, Bastila felt like a child in the embrace of a parent. It was too much for her, and she began to weep.

Unknown to either of them, Brianna had seen walked into the cafeteria just in time to see the kiss, and walked out just as fast; pain and anger only visible for a moment before her face became an emotionless mask.


	11. Abduction

**Star Wars: The Dark Empire**

**Episode 2 - Jenesis**

**Part 11 - Abduction**

**Coruscant, Underground safe-house**

"I thought that Jezebel would have been able to defeat that man."

"You're too naïve, Lignance. Korgul may not have her power, but he is immune to hers. She would be as defenceless against him as any Jedi or Sith."

"Its time for us to execute the final stage of the plan," said Feasance, "Marka will be going back in a few days to finish off the Suppression War, and finish it he will. The Hutts are terrified of him, they're already scrambling to work out a way to surrender without having all their assets seized. Once the threat of war is diminished in the Republic peoples minds, our plan will not be as effective."

"Does this affect our plans?"

"Not particularly."

Feasance sat at a desk, consulting his notes on their plan of action. Lignance was pacing around the room restlessly, kicking defenceless pebbles that happened to be in his way. They were they only ones in the room, but in the other rooms the rest of the hidden Sith had assembled. There were twenty-one, besides the two of them. It was the first time since the rebirth of the Jedi order that they had all assembled. Out of the twenty-three hidden Sith, eighteen held positions in the Jedi order, although the only one with a higher rank than knight was Lignance.

"I wouldn't like be on the receiving end of his lightsaber either," said Lignance.

"Afraid of him, are you?"

"Don't test me. I've been watching this man carefully for nearly a year now, I've seen the way he fights, the way he trains. Neither you nor I would stand a chance."

Feasance consulted his notes again, "Well, we won't be the ones who have to face him, fortunate for us. It is time, comrade. Contact Jezebel the Exile."

Lignance nodded, "So, we're going to go with my plan and have her abduct the children?"

They both knew that while Jezebel had been searching high and low for Revan's son, the galaxy was a big place when you didn't know where to start looking. But Lignance knew exactly where he was hidden, better, he also knew where Marka's daughter was as well. With both of them captured, the two most powerful Jedi in the history of the order would be like putty in their hands.

"Indeed. You were right, it is the best way of drawing both in," said Feasance, "Even if our allies lose to them; which is impossible -but would be nice- it will be too late. We will have completed our mission, and the Republic would not be able to mount even a semblance of resistance against the Sith Empire. The Dark Lord would surely reward us with a portion of the Republic, and we can build from there."

"Just like we planned from the beginning."

"Yes, like we planned. Soon, we will be able to take up the title of 'Darth' again. The endgame now approaches, don't make any mistakes. "

------------------------------------------------

_Two days later_

**Coruscant, Marka's Apartment**

When Marka had first mentioned the greys prophecies to her, Bastila had been intrigued. More than intrigued, she had been convinced that the prophecy could hold a key to their victory. Now finally she was learning about them properly, Laman and him were going through them with her in his study. Mical was there as well, listening intently and probing with sharp questions, but Brianna had excused herself for some reason. It was a pity, for if she had been there their entire inner circle would be gathered. Marka's housekeeper Danio had gone on a date with a young Jedi named Orrin, so it was just the four of them there.

Marka had written out the lullaby on the top of hardwood desk, and had the smaller fragments written up and placed next to the paragraphs that they were deemed to relate to. Most just reiterated what the lullaby said. Some were very obscure, and it was difficult to know what they meant.

Mical read the first two lines: **Darkness approaches, do not dismay; Hold fast, stay your course**_**.**_

"Those look like instructions to the entire Republic and Jedi order," he commented, looking up.

"Probably," said Laman, "But if we relate to the next to lines: **Stand the light, turn and fight; Twin twin Hearts of the Force**_. _Then those instructions relate primarily to the hearts, just as the prophecies were written for their reading."

"Remind me again what these 'hearts' are?" said Mical with a frown.

Laman shook his head in disbelief, "The hearts are the whole point of the prophecy, they are the only hope of victory against the Empire. _Twin twin hearts_, there are four of them, some of the greatest Force-users of their age. Marka is one, Revan is too, and it's probable that Bastila is as well."

"But how do we know that it's now that these 'hearts' are supposed to come? People have been calling every Jedi leader who beats the Sith the 'Chosen One' for millemia, and yet they keep coming back."

Laman's face set in a snarl as he opened his mouth; but before any words came out his mouth Marka put his hand on his shoulder, effectively stopping him before he began. "This is different, Mical," Marka explained, "There are two proofs for the fulfilment of this prophecy. First was the disbanding of the Greys, which happened when all my men joined the Jedi. The second is the invasion of the true Sith Empire into the Republic. And they are coming, I can guarantee you that."

Mical nodded, "That makes sense, but I'm still not saying I believe it."

"You don't have to," said Bastila, "But pay attention, if only because there a slight chance that the writer actually knew what was coming."

Marka looked back at the written out lullaby, "I've just noticed," he said, bringing their attention back to the actual prophecy, "_Turn and fight_. By that do they mean turn from the dark side, like my men and I did?"

"Possibly," said Laman, "But there is a stronger emphasis there on an armed struggle."

"What's the use of saying _twin twin _instead of four?" said Mical.

"Sounds more poetic," said Bastila with a smile.

"I could be wrong," said Marka, "But I think it is meant to symbolise a deep connection between two pairs that mirror each other, especially when we take the later references that we find later into account."

"If so, it seems likely that Kaya was the fourth heart. But if she was, since she's dead, sorry Marka, then won't that mean that _'__Evil shall reign, forevermore__'_?" said Mical, quoting the final line.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Mical had spoken a truth that the other three were afraid to voice, and now that it was in the air they didn't know how to respond. After a minute of shuffling feet, Bastila got up to make them all some caffa, and Marka read out the next paragraph:

"**Protector, battle winner; Prodigal, renamed thrice. Swordsman, feet of iron; Prophet, of great sacrifice.**"

"Just general descriptions," Laman explained, "Of course, we all know that Marka here has Mandalorian Iron replacement feet, but I don't know if you know; Mical; that Revan has changed his name three times to date."

"That's interesting," said the blond man, "and Bastila does sound like the Protector. And didn't Ka…" he trailed off with a guilty look at Marka.

Marka sighed. He himself was convinced that Kaya was, or had been, the prophet foretold. He preferred frank speech, and couldn't stand Mical soft-footing around them just because their deductions meant that they would certainly lose; and he told him as much.

"Be kind, he was only being sensitive," said Bastila. She came from the kitchen carrying a tray of caffa-filled mugs and set them down on another table, passing two to Laman and Mical before giving one to Marka and taking her own. He took a sip and said, "You remembered."

"Yes," she simply said, meeting his eyes and smiling. He was smiling too, he just couldn't help it. A part of his mind was screaming out to him that this was wrong, and he shouldn't be doing it, they would get found out; but unlike all previous occasions this time that little voice was muted to a murmur. Force, did she have any idea how beautiful she was, how much her smile lit up his world?

Laman cleared his throat uncomfortably, "Erhm, the next few lines."

"Yes of course," said Bastila quickly, breaking his gaze and looking at the table, "**Brothers, Sisters, stand; Love to bind you together. Four, three, then two; One path to change fate forever.**"

"That seems to support your deep connection theory," Mical said to Marka, "And the whole brother-sister-thing makes the four unmistakable, unless you have any other siblings we don't know about. But what's this _four, three, two _business?"

Laman spread his hands wide.

"It could be referring to the paths of fate in the next line, but it doesn't quite seem to fit," said Bastila, "I don't like the alternative though."

"Which is?"

"There are four hearts," said Bastila softly, "That section is a count-down."

Again there was silence. All knew what that meant - if it were true, even if there were four of them to start with, there would only be two surviving to the end; and that was in the best case scenario of them winning.

"But then it's fine," Mical burst out, "If only two have to survive to the end, perhaps the prophets death was meant to happen."

"I though you didn't believe in the prophecies," said Laman mildly. Mical's jaw tightened in what was probably anger. Marka took note, if there was a mutual dislike building between the two men he would have to take steps to resolve it before it set in stone, he couldn't have his closest confidants at odds.

"That's enough," he said sharply, before Mical could come back with a retort that would spark an argument, "Both of you. The reason it is a problem is that we have two fragments relating to an important event, when the prophet will save all three of the other hearts; two directly and one indirectly, and create a magnificent victory for the Republic shortly before the imperial invasion. If Kaya was the prophet, then we have to assume that the same event will result in the rest of our deaths."

"And then we're back to _Evil shall reign, forevermore._" Laman told Mical, "As you so aptly put it."

"The last line of that section," said Bastila quickly, like Marka she seemed to be afraid the two men would start sniping at each other again. "One path - what could that refer to?"

"Maybe that we're walking a very tight line, there is no room for errors, or something along those lines," said Laman, "Other than that I have no clue."

"The last paragraph relates back to the first," said Marka, moving things along, "**Stand brave, stay strong; More than they bargained for. Give all, for if you fall; Evil shall reign, forevermore. **It's just the last two lines that are important here, I think. It means that if we fail, the Dark Lord will never be defeated, or if he is he will only be replaced by another Sith Lord."

"So this is it," said Bastila softly, "Our galaxy's one and only chance. And we are the ones who will be deciding the outcome of this, the doom of our time and all time after."

"No pressure," said Mical with a forced grin, but it was lost on the grim faces of his fellows.

"I need a drink," said Marka, getting up.

"I'll come with you," said Bastila, "Laman, Mical, would you like to join us?"

Marka fought to maintain his expression. He didn't want them intruding. Fortunately both declined, Mical citing that he wanted to check on Brianna who had been acting strangely lately, and Laman that he didn't drink. Marka knew that to be a lie, but was grateful for it.

They were already in civilian clothing, so there was no need for them to get changed. Marka though sealed up his scars quickly with some facial putty, and covered it with make-up. It wasn't for vanities sake, he just didn't want to be recognised while he was relaxing. Bastila supervised him, she was far more experienced than he in that area.

"I wonder," she said as the exited together, "What part will Morningstar play in this?"

------------------------------------------------

**Onderon, Outskirts of Izus**

"Again," Morningstar demanded sharply.

Dustil was sweating so hard he didn't know if there was a single drop of moisture left in his body. His arms burned with the dull ache of fatigue. He had previously thought himself as fit and strong, but the weight of the swords was far greater than that of the lighsabers he was used to. Extensive training with these new weapons had drained him far more than he had thought was possible.

"I… can't," he said between gasps.

Morningstar's partner; or lackey or whatever she was to him; stood before him, spinning her twin lightsabers in lazy arcs. Morningstar called her 'Bee', whatever that meant. She was the one that Dustil had been training against the entire time, while Morningstar had been giving him instructions on how to use the swords. The strange thing was that Dustil was sure that he knew them both from somewhere, he just couldn't put his finger on it.

Bee came at him in 'Makashi' form, in almost a lazy slowness. Conversely, Dustil was moving as fast as he could manage, 'Juyo' form. But she simply _flowed _between blocking and attacking, and with him as tired as he was within eight moves she had a glowing blade centimetres away from his midsection. She was good, very good, but Dustil knew he was better. He would have bested her ages before if it hadn't been for these useless swords.

Both blades were single-edged and coloured, the lighter blade contrasting with the darker hilt and cross guard. The first was red as ruby, and had a serrated section about a third of the way down, as well as a sword-catching hook halfway down the back. According to Morningstar, it was known as the Sword of Vengeance. The other was a lapis lazuli blue, a copy of the other sword except that it lacked the serrations, and its back was also sharpened from the point to about a fifth of the way down. It was the Sword of Mercy. Together, they were the Swords of Justice.

It all sounded highly pompous to Dustil. Why use a pair of ancient swords instead of state-of-the-art lightsabers? Sure, they were made better than any swords he had ever seen, his training proved that they could resist lightsaber damage nearly indefinitely. But they were invariably heavier than weightless blades, and so slowed him down and tired him. What possible advantage could they give him against a man who beat the two greatest swordsmen the Jedi order had ever produced at the same time?

"These things are useless," he spat, catching his wind again, "Are you trying to butter me up for Korgul, make things a little easier for him?"

"No offence," said Bee, "But at your current level of skill, you wouldn't last half a minute against him even with your lightsabers."

"None taken," he said, but it still stung. The worst part was that he suspected she was being kind in her time estimate.

"Again," ordered Morningstar. Dustil couldn't stop the groan that escaped his lips.

Once again, the twin golden blades sliced at his body, he swung the blue blade in his left, managing to stop both at once. Anger coursed through his veins, surely he should have got a break ages ago? He countered with the sword of vengeance in his right. There simply wasn't any point in forcing him to fight in such a weakened state. A double stab forced him to jump back. He forced down his fury, calming his temper and stilling his thoughts. What he needed…was more _energy_.

Suddenly the Sword of Mercy began to vibrate. Dustil gasped and backed off from his opponent, staring at it openly. It was heating up now, so was his entire body. He tried to drop it, but his fingers refused to move. His entire body felt like it was on fire now, the sensation was…exquisite?! It was ecstasy comparable to a sexual climax. Then as quickly as it had come, it was gone, Dustil fell to his knees.

"How do you feel?" said Morningstar.

"Different," said Dustil, coming to his feet again and taking stock of himself, "I feel great!"

It was true, he felt completely invigorated. But how could he be feeling like this when only moments before he had been about to collapse?

"You've just uncovered the Sword of Mercy's ability," said Morningstar when he voiced his concerns, "Complete revitalisation. You will need it in your battle against Korgul, but be warned, it has limited power and cannot easily be recharged. There is only enough left for three more renewals, you will need to use all against Korgul."

"Why couldn't you have just told me about it?" he demanded.

"I have seen all the possible paths. Believe me when I say that this was the best, and fastest way for you to learn. Now we can start with the next phase of your training, unlocking the ability of the Sword of Vengeance."

------------------------------------------------

**Coruscant, The Twisted Rancor**

Orrin hadn't dated in a while, he'd simply been too busy with his training. He was a Jedi padawan now, and well on the way to becoming a knight. It was harder for him than for most of the others, simply because his Force-potential was so much lower than most of theirs. He had been a borderline entrant, that much was plainly obvious now, looking back on when he had been recruited. But he didn't let it get him down, instead he just worked twice as hard as anybody else, capitalising heavily on the points where he didn't have an innate weakness.

As a result of his fanatical exercising over the past few months, he was now one of the strongest and fittest of all the Jedi. His body was well toned and sculpted with corded hard-muscle, they rippled as he moved with a confidence he had never before possessed. His role-model was of course Marka, not that he had ever met the man, but there were a few well-circulated pictures of what he looked like without a shirt on, taken of course without his consent. As far as he knew, the Jedi Master had refused point-blank to pose for any photo shoots, but that hadn't stopped every single magazine declaring him the galaxy's sexiest male and snapping up every single illegal shot of him. Orrin grinned, perhaps he would one day hold the prestigious title.

Certainly his stock with woman had improved since he had joined the order (when he'd found the time to meet them) but that could've just been the whole confidence-thing. He'd met Danio through a mutual acquaintance a few days before, and been instantly enchanted by her. Why he should always like shy girls he did not know, but he had kept meeting up with her, and just yesterday asked her out.

Orrin had been terribly nervous preparing for the date, he'd only ever taken two other women out. One had called it quits right after the second date, the other had stayed with him for three years, but they had never been serious; more friends than partners, and had barely ever kissed. About the only serious thing that happened between them was the fight they'd had after she'd told him, right out of the blue, that she actually liked Orrin's (at the time) best friend. This girl, no, this woman was different he knew. Or more accurately, he hoped.

They had started at a trendy night club called the Duo-mercillion, it was a place that catered for those who didn't go out just to get boozed, drugged up and laid in that order. They had drank a little there, and danced a lot more. Danio had obviously taken a few lessons at some stage, she knew some good moves even if she wasn't anywhere near the level of the professionals that danced on raised platforms. From there they had moved on to taking a tour of the city at night, finally settling in an exclusive social club called the Twisted Rancor (after the famous trio). Orrin would never have been able to get in, but apparently Danio had the right connections to secure her easy entry for them both.

As soon as they had walked in though, she had stopped dead, shock written all over her face. His heart sank as he followed her gaze to a man who even he could tell was very handsome. He was sitting talking to a beautiful woman. Inwardly Orrin sighed, probably an ex who she hadn't gotten over yet, which meant he was her rebound. Perhaps this relationship had been doomed before it had even began.

The man was in a white loose-fitting long sleeve that was open at the neck, exposing the top of his chest, and tight-fitting pair of black pants. He looked like a dancer, except that his boots looked too cumbersome for delicate manoeuvres and his build was far too muscular. The woman with him was dressed almost identically, except that her shirt was closed at the top with a collar, and had a tear shaped opening showing the skin just above her breasts. All in all, their clothing was about the least flamboyant of the guests at the Twisted Rancor. That in itself made them almost stand out, but they held themselves differently too. Most probably wouldn't notice, but Orrin could tell trained martial artists when he saw them.

He didn't immediately recognise the man, although there seemed something oddly familiar about his face, but when he took a second glance at the woman he gasped. It was Jedi Grandmaster Bastila! She was the one married to Revan, although her and the entire Republic had quickly been abandoned by the one-time Dark Lord. Besides her infamous husband, she was also one of the most famous Jedi in her own right. Her Battle-Meditation had been the only thing stopping total Sith domination half a decade ago. What was she doing dating other men?

The man Bastila was with half turned, and noticed them staring. "Danio," he acknowledged, and took a half glance at him. Orrin felt his stomach sink, he definitely knew her. But he still couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen the man somewhere before.

"Master Marka," she gasped, "What have you done to your f…" She was cut off as he pulled her close.

"Don't say my name so loudly," he hissed, "I'm trying to keep a low profile here."

Orrin meanwhile stood blankly, mouthing her words silently. His face felt hot and his head spun, all worry of his date failing slipping his mind like water off a Selkath's back. Right in front of him was his idol, in the flesh, and grinding out quietly how he hated mass adoration. Snapping slightly out of his hero-worship mould, he started to wonder where Danio, a refugee, would know a famous Jedi Master like Marka Cabanic. When he voiced his concern, it was Marka who answered.

"She's my housekeeper," he said, and Orrin felt a thrill at being addressed by his hero.

"I'm sorry, you are?" said Bastila, and he had to fight a swoon at being spoken to by her _as well_.

"Orrin…Orrin Ithker, ma'am," he managed.

"I remember that name, you're the one who killed a phantom on Telos after only a week of training, truly a remarkable feat. You were given a high commendation in the council by Master Brianna, she also recommended you for the Cross of Valour."

"I was lucky," he mumbled, blushing at the compliment.

"I agree, but you were also brave. Not many Jedi, even experienced ones, would stand up to a phantom unaided."

"Didn't you get four in the same battle, Master Marka?" said Orrin, trying to deflect the attention off him. He felt so inadequate in their presence.

"I did," he said shortly, his tone brooking no further discussion.

"Marka," Bastila said in a chiding way.

He turned around to face him, Orrin was surprised to see that the scars on his face that he was well known for were gone. That was the reason he hadn't immediately recognised him. Marka's face was set, his eyes glinting like pieces of blue ice. "Yes, I killed four of the Empire's elite Force-dead phantoms, and yes we orchestrated an attack that resulted in an overall triumph. But in the process thousands of soldiers were killed, we lost around a score of experienced Jedi, they can't be replaced, and about fifty younglings who we had invested time and resources in. I was defeated in combat, and I lost someone… precious… to me. Now we are still at war with the Hutts, total war with the Empire is looming, Korgul is still at large, Jezebel is causing no end of problems; and on top of that we have…"

"_Marka_!" interjected Bastila warningly.

"…not got nearly enough resources to deal with these threats," he finished, somewhat lamely. His last line didn't seem to fit with his build-up, Orrin wondered what he'd really been about to say.

"Don't mind him," said Bastila, "He gets depressed when he drinks."

"I do not!" Marka denied in a tone that Orrin would never have expected to come from the Jedi Master. Somehow, it made him feel better. Even the mighty Marka Cabanic was still human, got depressed when things went badly, and sulky when his date told him off. He had been surprised to realise that Bastila was dating him, but then she had been abandoned years ago, and he was recently widowed. They both deserved a bit of happiness, they would probably need it in the dark days to come.

"Forgive me, but what happened to your scars?" Orrin asked the Jedi Battlemaster.

"I covered them up, since everybody expects me to have them, they don't recognise me without them."

"It makes him look better too," said Bastila, giving a short laugh, "He's hopeless at putting on make-up, I had to help him." Marka was shifting in his seat uncomfortably.

"So what does it feel like to be the galaxy's sexist male?" said Orrin. He was feeling cheeky all of a sudden, and not nearly as overawed after hearing Bastila take him down a notch.

Marka scowled, then sighed, "I wish people would stop reminding me," he muttered, then spoke up, "There are many men in this galaxy better looking than me, Orrin Ithker, it was the fame of my people's escape from the Empire; and my popularity as a leading Jedi Master that won it for me, not my looks."

"That makes sense," said Orrin slowly, "I've heard it happening with politicians before, but never with a Jedi!"

"There's a first time for everything," Marka said softly, "In a few years the Republic could be defeated and the Jedi order disbanded, this time for good."

There was a short; uncomfortable silence, then Danio spoke up, "Um, Orrin, perhaps we should go somewhere else."

He was about to agree when Bastila said, "Nonsense, that is no talk for new friends. Knight Orrin, why don't you and Danio join us?"

"I'm only a padawan," Orrin protested, but Bastila had been pulled back by Marka, who was whispering to her furiously. Plainly he didn't think much of the idea. She waved off his objections though.

"Pardon my suspicious friend," she said, "Please join us. Marka will go and get us all drinks, _won__'__t you, Marka?_" The look she gave him would have made a Krayt dragon pause.

"I'll go and get us all some drinks," said Marka, as though it had been his idea.

Orrin and Danio exchanged a glance, then she smiled. Orrin took that to mean that she'd accepted the invitation, and they sat down next to each other opposite Bastila; while Marka got up and left for the bar. Orrin noticed the Jedi Grandmaster's eyes following him as he walked off, his eyes widened as he followed her gaze and realised exactly what part she had been looking at.

"So how long have you two been dating?" said Danio, and Bastila snapped her eyes back to them.

"This is our first official date, but we've liked each other for a while. Don't mention it to Marka though, he still won't admit that he likes me to anybody else."

"It's also our first date," said Orrin, and friendly conversation and light banter continued from there.

Marka returned soon with drinks, the like of which Orrin had never seen. They consisted of many different layers of coloured liquid, each layer not blending in in the slightest with the one above or below it, and each layer had about half a dozen marble-sized baubles inside. According to Bastila, these were known as 'multicultural melanges', each layer had a different flavour, and as one sipped them the baubles would burst on contact with the air; adding to the complexity of the taste. According to Marka, the four combined cost more than a month's worth of Orrin's salary. Almost before he had finished speaking, Bastila whacked the back of his head, and demanding an apology. Orrin and Danio started to laugh, watching the two of them was priceless.

"Well, here's to us!" Bastila proposed the toast, raising her tall glass. "This is our night."

------------------------------------------------

**Bastila's Apartment**

Marka drove them both back to Bastila's place, which was four blocks from his own. Of course, a single block in this part of Coruscant was a massive skyscraper with more of an economy than most backwater planets, so four was a notable distance. He had intended to drop her off there, it was hours past midnight, and both were to return to the frontlines that day; so they should probably get some sleep. Marka knew this, but somehow he didn't want the night to be over.

Without a doubt, it had been one of the happiest nights of his life. Just spending time with Bastila lifted his heart in a way that only Kaya had been able to do before her. Their relationship was very different to his previous one, Bastila seemed determined to take him down a couple of notches whenever she saw him. Strange as it sounded, Marka actually liked it. Everybody else seemed to either be worshiping him (like young Orrin) or trying to kill him. She gave him a sense normality, she made him feel human, very human.

And very much in love with her.

There was no denying it, not any more. He couldn't keep holding onto his love for his dead wife, his heart had moved on, and settled on a woman who (besides being his late wife's half-sister) was nothing like her. It filled him to the bursting, saturating his blood. When he saw her, everything else around would cloud up, he could see only her. Her scent was a drug to him, setting his pulse racing. Marka had always prised his absolute level of control, Bastila had cut through it effortlessly, exposing the very core of him.

"Marka?"

"Yes," he said, jerking back to the present.

"I asked if you would like to come inside."

"For some caffa?"

Bastila turned away, her face was hidden from him as she muttered something. Marka looked down, and saw that her hands were shaking slightly.

"Could you repeat that?" he said.

She turned back to face him, her face was flushed and she wouldn't meet his gaze. "No, I want you to make love to me." She raised her eyes, capturing his.

Marka gulped dryly, his face heating, his brain working overtime. His thought process became immediately analytical. The alcohol could possibly be influencing her decision, as could the fact that they were both going off to war the next day; and all their interactions there would be monitored strictly. Perhaps it was just hormones, or had somebody dared her to do this? No, that couldn't be it, Bastila never accepted dares. Even as he was thinking, she leaned over (her expression nearly as terrified as his) and kissed him lightly on the lips. He responded instinctively, like a starving man, his arms moving on their own accord to wrap around her firm feminine body.

He broke the kiss for a moment, "What about…" he began, trying desperately to hold onto rational thought; she put her finger on his lips.

"No words," she whispered, her voice soft and sultry, "Not tonight." She pulled him in a close embrace, her neck felt so soft and inviting that he couldn't resist nibbling on it. Bastila's entire body shook with pleasure, and a groan escaped her lips. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this."

They stumbled through the partially lit passage towards her door, between blind gropes, caresses and tongue fencing; all sense of control long gone. The small part of Marka that was still rational felt guilty, he was betraying Never, he was betraying Kaya. But Kaya was dead, she would have wanted him to be happy; and Never had abandoned his wife. Marka left his rational part arguing as they tried to open the door, not an easy job when two people are fully entwined.

They locked the door behind, after they had finally managed to get in. It was blindly bright inside, and they spent a good minute fumbling for the dim switch. Bastila began to laugh when they found it, and the tension broke. Marka stared at her from across the room, his smile threatening to split his face in half, drinking in the sight of her. The scent of her was everywhere in this room, every pore on his skin seemed to be straining to absorb it. A silent game had developed between them, they were each waiting for the other to break. Bastila's eyes were bright with promise, her chest rising and falling as if she had just run a race.

As though they had read each others minds, they both conceded at the same time. In two steps they had crossed the space between them, and were kissing and touching each other like hormonal teenagers. There were no more doubts now, they were both committed. Bastila stepped back after a few moments, and raised her arms with an inviting smile. Marka slid her shirt and bra off in one movement, leaving her topless. Her body was just as he had imagined, lithe and shapely. He stared at her breasts as he ran his hands over them, the only word he could think of to describe them was: perfect.

Bastila was obviously not content to be the only topless one, she grabbed the front of Marka's shirt and ripped it open. He dropped his arms, and it fell loosely to the floor. After taking a moment to admire his defined muscles and run her fingers over his contours, she hugged him tightly. The sensation of the skin of their upper bodies coming into contact for the first time was exquisite, her skin was soft as satin, the feeling of closeness and acceptance smothering desire for a few moments. Then the fire returned, with a vengeance as though to make up for its short absence tenfold, she let him go and started to lead him towards the bedroom.

There was no doubt in Marka's mind that they were sealing a commitment to each other. Whether they married or not, from now on they were partners to the death. He wouldn't have it any other way.

At the foot of her bed she grabbed him by the buckle of his thin black belt; and pulled him in for a soft, tender kiss. Then she smiled, and started to unbuckle his belt. His lightsaber fell with a clatter as his pants dropped. Marka slid his fingers under her pants, caressing her smooth thighs and firm bottom. Their eyes were locked now, it was a moment he knew he would remember for the rest of his life. Her beautiful eyes, swimming with emotion, the unspoken love flowing between them; the hunger, the passion.

Bang CRASH! The front door burst off its hinges and smashed into the wall a few meters from them.

Bastila screamed.

------------------------------------------------

Never leapt from his speeder onto the top of the building, he didn't have any time to lose. According to Morningstar, Bastila was going to be attacked by assassins in less than a minute. The only chance she had was if he came to her rescue. Why that should be, he did not know, but he was convinced that Morningstar was the prophet that the grey's prophecy spoke of. If the prophet said that Bastila would die unless he came, then he had to save her. It didn't matter if Jezebel was able to get hot on his trail as a result, he couldn't live without her.

He shot a gripping hook with an attached line from each of his highly modified gauntlets into the back of the raised concrete that encircled the edge of the building, then he jumped on top of it. He then looped the strong cords through attachments in his belt, and lowered himself so that he was vertical to the wall and facing the ground. Then he started running down, feeding the cord through his gloved hands. The friction between them was enough that he could smell burning.

Over the past few years his bond with Bastila had grown so weak that was almost non-existent. But now, as close as he was to her, if he concentrated he could tell where she was, so he knew when to stop. He halted his decent, and kicked off the glass. Then he sent a concentrated Force-blast that shattered a single panel, and he swung through.

Landing, he immediately cut his cords and drew his double-bladed lightsaber. Wasting no time, he leapt forward and ran towards his wife's apartment. He was close enough now that he could sense a hint of her emotions, she was in a state of either fear or excitement, most likely the former. The attack had already begun! He had no time to lose.

He reached the door, and focused all his power before blasting it in. Bang CRASH! He heard her scream, and leapt through the shattered entrance with both ends of his weapon ignited and ready, his eyes scanning the room for assassins. There were none, the only people in the room where him, Bastila, and the man she was with. Never's lightsaber dropped from nerveless fingers as he took in the pair. Both of them were topless, and his pants where around his ankles. There could be no doubt what they had been about to do. Even worse, the male figure she was embracing was none other than Marka, his half-brother!

"What are you doing?" Bastila screamed, trying to cover her breasts with one arm.

Her words pulled him out of his shock and drew his anger to the surface. "I was told there was going to be an attack here," he snarled, "But what the frack are you doing, _wife_?" He strode forward, his weapon forgotten, murder in his eyes.

Marka stepped in front of him silently, buckling his belt up, his expression unreadable. Never didn't even slow, he smashed his fist into the other mans cheek. Remarkably, it didn't floor him, he swayed and then pushed Never back; spitting out a mouthful of blood. Whatever he had used to cover his scars had come loose with the blow, and was now hanging down in ribbons.

Never was quivered with rage, how dare the bastard touch him, how dare he touch his wife. He charged forward, and unearthly cry on his lips, his fists seeking the bastards flesh. This time he simply raised his arms to defend his head and neck, allowing Never to smash blow after sledgehammer blow into his midsection. The Force came to him, as if to assist in his revenge, lending terrible power to his strikes. The bastard shook each time he struck his rock-solid abdomen, but still didn't retaliate. Never felt desperation come to him, how could he take all this abuse and keep standing? Any ordinary man have been killed instantly.

A blur came at him, instinctively he countered. His fist connected with much softer flesh, and knocked it immediately out of the way. Only when it was on the floor did he realise what had happened. Bastila had run between them, and he had hit her; oh gods; he'd hit her hard. Before he could move; the air in front of his eyes seemed to solidify and explode at once; he was floating, flying backwards, his face a sea of blinding pain. He landed hard and lay stunned, warm blood pouring down both sides of his mouth.

Dazed, he slowly came to, and pulled up to a sitting position painfully. The first thing he saw were Marka and Bastila, hugging each other tightly. Bastila was sobbing on the other man's shoulder, the bruising on her neck painfully obvious. He could not believe that he'd hurt her, he couldn't believe it. Marka's stomach was a mass of purple and blue discolouring, he'd probably taken a great deal of internal damage as well, the embrace seemed to be as much to support him as to give comfort. Even still, the tender scene broke his heart.

Nausea came suddenly and overpoweringly, Never barely had time lean forward before he was spewing his stomach's entire contents onto the floor. Blood from his nose streamed out with renewed force to add to the vile mixture. He forced himself up, and gingerly touched his nose, before pulling his hand back and wincing. It was shattered to powder. He was lucky to be alive, he knew well that a strong strike to the nasal region could kill very easily when done at the right angle. But had Marka intended to kill him?

The worst part was that he couldn't blame the other man for reacting the way he had, in fact he had behaved far better considering the situation. He had refused to fight back, even though Never had been set on killing him with his fists, and only struck when Bastila had been injured. Force, if somebody had harmed Bastila in his sight he wouldn't have settled for merely incapacitating them, if that had been the other man's intention.

"Why did you come here?" said Marka softly, his eyes unreadable. The side of his mouth was also discoloured, his old scars weeping. His teeth were bloody, although none seemed to be missing.

It took Never a short while before he could think enough to state his reasoning. "Morningstar told me that there would be assassins coming to kill Bastila, and I was the only one who could possibly save her." That was what he tried to say, what came out was nearly unintelligible and so thick that he could barely understand himself.

"There's no one here besides us!" Bastila cried angrily, her eyes red from tears, "Just get out already, or haven't you torn the place up enough, haven't you hurt us enough to be content with your _revenge_." She spoke the last word like a curse, making it sound a lot like his old name.

Her insult stung. "Why, Bastila," he said, his voice cracking with emotion and nearly making him choke on his own blood. He vomited again, and continued. "I loved you. Why?" Despite the pain, he forced a finger up the one nostril and blew out the clotted blood, then copied the procedure on the other side. At least he'd be able to speak reasonably clearly now.

"I loved, and you left me," she shouted, "Not a word of warning, no contact for years, no knowledge of where you were; except that you could only be putting yourself in harms way. I tried to wait, I did, for six long years I sustained myself with your memory; I raised our child by myself. But in the end I had to come to terms with the fact that I didn't love you any more, that I was just holding onto shades of the past. I was moving on with my life, taking a second chance for love. Now you show up," she gave a short laugh that was entirely devoid of mirth, "As always, with impeccable timing, and absolutely _breathtaking _restraint."

Never was about to respond, when there was a loud BEEP, followed almost immediately by another. He recognised the tone, it was one generally used to indicate emergencies. Both Marka and Bastila looked at each other; then she moved off to answer their comm.-links while he supported himself against the wall. Never felt a rush of guilt, he tried to quell it with righteous anger, but failed. He had truly intended to kill the man, they all knew it -even if nothing had been said.

Bastila was speaking into the apparatus quietly, he couldn't make out anything of what she had said. The room was a mess, with blood, vomit and rubble all over the floor. His lightsaber was there too, but Never made no move to recover it. His eyes came to rest on Marka again, and the guilt returned. There was still a fair measure of anger, after all, the man had cuckolded him; but most had burned out already. The other man was obviously in a great deal of pain, even if was trying not to show it. Never walked up to him.

"Does it hurt?" he said, saying the first thing that came into his mind, and immediately cursed himself for a fool. Of course it hurt, anyone could see that.

"I've had worse," Marka replied steadily, his face a tight mask but his eyes betrayed his pain, controlled anger and … disappointment? "But not often."

Never sighed, "For what its worth, I won't get in your way. If she wants a divorce, I won't fight it." He had already lost there, and destroyed all his chances of reconciling with Bastila from his actions earlier. The best he could hope for now was to at least be on speaking terms with them.

"I would appreciate that."

There was an uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by Bastila's whispered conversation over the comm.-link. Marka seemed to be performing some sort of healing trance. It was fortunate that he had such powers, normally the internal haemorrhaging that came from such injuries required extensive surgery. As it was, he'd be lucky to be able to avoid it. Never offered to help, but was politely declined, and told to sort out his nose.

"I shouldn't have come," said Never softly, at a loss for things to say. What could he say to make it right, to make this whole ugly situation go away. Words seemed like little more than noise on the wind. But, at the same time, why had Morningstar sent him here? There were no assassins anywhere in sight.

"No you shouldn't have," Marka agreed, just as Bastila returned. She was as white as a sheet, and trembling so badly she seemed about to fall.

"That was Master Bindoe," she said when they asked, "There's been a raid on Alderaan, a very precise raid. There were only seven deaths, the foster families of my son Lehon, and Marka's daughter Belaya."

"And the children?" Never and Marka exclaimed at the same time.

Tears were leaking down Bastila's face. "They've been taken! The kidnappers left instructions, and if we don't follow them, we'll never see them again!"


	12. Reflections

-1**Star Wars: The Dark Empire**

**Episode 2 - Jenesis**

**Part 12 - Reflections**

**Coruscant, Underground safe-house**

gSo it has happened, Lignance?"

gIt has, my old friend, it most certainly has. Revan and Marka will have no choice but to obey our orders, neither will risk their children's lives, even if it costs them their own. They are foolish like that. We can make our move then."

gThere's still Bastila," said Feasance, a slight frown crossing his face.

gWe will outnumber her people many times over, and I am more than a match for her. I will be the one to kill her. With her death, the Republic's last hope to be able to stand against the might of the Empire will be crushed!"

gAnd I'll take care of that meddling fool Mical."

gCareful," Lignance cautioned. "He has been learning that strange Yoshi form that the traitorous Sith brought with them from the Empire."

Feasance scoffed, "There is no form more powerful than Juyo, they're blowing smoke; we both know it. You and I, Lignance, are far superior to the best Jedi."

gEven still, we must proceed with caution."

gAgreed. We make our move tomorrow, once Revan and Marka have gone. See to it that everything on your side is ready."

------------------------------------------------

**Marka's Apartment**

Mical hadn't ever been to a full gathering of Marka's inner circle ever before, he supposed that he should feel honoured to be included. But then, of course, by definition it meant that Marka was in charge. It seemed like all the pretences were finally off, Marka truly was the one in control of the Jedi order. It wasn't hard for Mical to read the clues, his massive popularity, the way all the ex-Sith were loyal to him primarily; and by extension all their pupils would be too. Force, that was practically the entire order. Even his current relationship with Bastila could be a scheme for making sure that she never tried to limit his powers, since she was about the only one who could.

Mical didn't entirely trust the man, he had good reason not to. For crying out loud, the man was an ex-Sith Master's apprentice. He could be just setting them up for a massive betrayal which would leave the Republic defenceless, and him pre-eminent. But even if he didn't fall, even if he didn't betray them; if he was killed or captured the effect would still be devastating. The entire order's moral would plummet, hundreds if not thousands would desert. They had bet too much on him, far too much.

When Mical entered the room he was surprised to see how many were there. He counted them, ten, eleven if he included himself. Some he knew well, like Bastila, Marka, Kaah and Brianna. He hadn't known she would be here, the last time he'd seen her she'd acted all cold to him. There were others he didn't know as well, Laman, who seemed like a mentor to Marka; Mical hadn't much taken to him. Venoak, the new council member and ex-Sith was there too. There were two he recognised as Marka's padawans, a very tall blonde beauty and a dark-skinned Miralukan; he didn't know their names. The last two hanging at the back he didn't know at all. One was a large man with loose skin, he looked like he'd lost a lot of weight at some time. The other sported a nose-cast and a pair of black eyes that caught his attention immediately, but when he looked past them he thought he was looking at Marka. But Marka was sitting down further in front, what was going on? Who was that?

As if to answer his question, Marka said, "That's everybody. Mical, meet Revan Oneiro, and his padawan Hugas Kamagi. They have just rejoined, and joined, the Jedi Order."

Revan! So that's who it was. Mical could do little more than gape, he looked so similar to Marka. He knew they were brothers and everything, but even still, this was unreal. He could see now why Marka's identity could often have been mistaken. How did one relate to the most infamous Jedi in the history of the order?

gCall me Never, please," said Revan in a soft voice, as if afraid to say anything.

gDon't, any of you," Marka countermanded, "He's back with us now, he's no longer hiding. And he will go by the name people know him as." He spoke to them as a group, but it was obvious that his comment was aimed straight at his half brother; who winced.

Something had transpired, Mical wasn't sure what. But the last he had seen of Marka and Bastila, they had been about to go on a date together. Now Bastila's husband was back, he didn't seem to be together with her, and was submitting to her new partner. Added to this, his injury seemed very fresh. Mical didn't need to investigate to know who had inflicted it.

There were more clues in the group. Bastila was wearing a high collar that covered her entire neck, a style she never usually chose. She'd been hurt on the neck. Marka was sitting in a group meeting, something he only ever did in Jedi council meetings. Added to this he seemed to be sitting rather stiffly, unnatural for a fighter like him. He'd also been hurt; somewhere on the stomach, spine or groin. Marka's blonde padawan might also have been involved, her eyes were red and puffy. What exactly had happened?

gWell, we can begin now," Laman prompted.

Marka nodded. "Just so you understand, none of what is said here leaves this room. Last night, shortly before midnight, my daughter Belaya and Revan and Bastila's son Lehon were kidnapped. Their foster families were murdered, and horribly mutilated. The kidnappers carved their demands into the victim's flesh with a lightsaber, spacing it out so that we'd have to look at all the corpses to decipher their message. It reads as follows:

g_We have your children. If you ever wish to see them alive again, Revan must fly to Lehon, home of the Rakatans; while Marka must go to Nal Hutta. People there are waiting to meet you, including your children. If you cooperate, they will be released and sent to Coruscant unharmed. If you refuse to cooperate, or there is any sign of trouble, they will end up like our writing pads. _Then they put in the co-ordinates of where we should go to meet them."

Mical felt cold. They had taken the children! Words could not express his sudden rush of hatred for the perpetrators of this…this evil. He could understand killing men, but kidnapping children? Bastila looked stricken, but the two fathers rather unaffected. Then again, Revan had never met his son, and Marka had spent at most a few days with his daughter. As far as Mical knew, he hadn't ever visited her since the death of his wife; which was understandable after a fashion.

Venoak, the new council member, spoke first. "Don't go," he said, "They could only be planning on killing you on arrival, or ambushing you on your way."

gHe's right," said Laman, "I don't mean to sound heartless, but the Republic needs you. If you die, far more young children would suffer."

gBut she is my daughter," said Marka softly.

gAnd if you die, who's going to save her? Do you really think that Korgul, or whoever organised this, will keep his word and let her go?" Laman exclaimed angrily.

gEven still, I need to try," said Marka, his face set in a way that Mical had learnt meant that he couldn't be dissuaded. "She's all of _her _I have left." A broken note crept into his voice, betraying his emotion.

gI will go too," said Revan quietly, "Even if it means my life. Gods know, I won't be missed."

Bastila had been weeping into her lap, but now she raised her head, eyes shining with a desperate hope. "Do you think you could win, and bring the children back safe?"

Revan nodded, but without any real confidence.

Laman stood up, and started pacing up and down the room. "Since you've made up your minds, then we have to formulate some sort of a strategy that gives us the edge. It seems obvious to me that Jezebel would want to face Revan, while Korgul was almost certainly charged by his master with taking Marka down. I remember that the two of you decided, months ago, that each was to take down his opposites assailant. That could work."

gThat was a long time ago, before we realised how powerful Korgul and Jezebel truly are," Marka argued. "Many things have changed since then. And besides, they would be looking out for deception. It's far too simple."

gBut that's what makes it so brilliant," said Revan, "They would be on the lookout for something big, like a battalion of troops, or a score of Jedi to back us up. A simple identity switch would be something they would never suspect."

gBut won't they see the difference?" said Kaah.

gWith a bit of make-up, the disguise would be perfect. Marka proved that yesterday." Revan countered.

There was a short silence, which Hugas broke by saying, "I'd listen to him, he is probably the greatest strategist of our time."

gBut how does that help?" cried Bastila.

Revan seemed uncomfortable addressing her, he spoke to the group as a whole, "Korgul is a brilliant swordsman, better than anyone I've ever faced, including Marka. But I was able to do better against him in our last fight, even though I'm not quite as good. Why? Because Korgul has studied Marka's fighting style extensively. Similarly, Jezebel knows my Force-signature, and could detect and kill me if I was anything less than a hundred miles away. Marka she's never met, he would stand far more of a chance."

gYou also have greater control over your Force-abilities," Marka added, "And you were able to work out some of Korgul's abilities as you fought him. I agree, if anyone can beat him, it has to be you. I fear I wouldn't be a match for Jezebel though. I specialise in lightsaber combat. Against her level of power I would be defenceless."

gI'll come with you," said Mical, surprising everybody; including himself. When they stared, he reddened slightly and hurried on, "I understand the nature of Force-bonds and Jezebels power better than anyone, plus I followed her for a time. I have to do this, she is my responsibility."

There was silence following his pronunciation. Then Marka looked at him, his face for once open and readable. Gratefully, he gave a nod.

It was odd, but Mical found that he could no longer hold any suspicions of treachery against him. But even as he contemplated his new feelings regarding Marka, fear rose up to seize his heart. Force be damned, what had he done? He'd just volunteered to face Jezebel again, he was going to die, slowly; painfully. He had no idea how they could possibly prevail. The worst part was that Brianna had seen him make the pledge, he couldn't back out now. Oh Force, he was so dead.

------------------------------------------------

**Onderon, Outskirts of Izus**

It was mid-afternoon, and the scorching sun of Onderon had heated up the air to about forty five degrees, although there was surprisingly little humidity. Even still, Dustil could feel the sweat weeping from every pore on his skin, his body crying for moisture and a cool shower. He and Bee were circling each other when Morningstar approached.

gIt is time for you to leave," said Morningstar, pointing to one of the two craft parked nearby. "I have entered the coordinates for your destination already. Gather your gear, and get ready to go."

Dustil blinked, all this training with no word of when he was to depart, and now this all of a sudden. He also noticed that Morningstar was pointing to the larger of the two craft, the one the size of a large patrol ship.

gIsn't that the wrong one?" he asked, "I can fly a ship that size, but I thought I was taking the fighter."

gWe haven't progressed as far as I had hoped in our training," Morningstar explained, "That vessel at least gives you enough space in the hold to do some practising during your two-day flight."

gCould we have a moment?" said Bee.

gMake it quick," Morningstar said, and walked away.

Bee deactivated her lightsabers, and looked at him expectantly with her hazel eyes. Taking his cue, Dustil lowered his swords and gulped; he was weak against that look.

gYou like me, don't you?" said Bee suddenly.

gI…I…" Dustil stammered.

gI'm not very good at this," she confessed, "But I like you too. When this is over, could we go for a drink?"

And there she was, vulnerable, baring her heart. Dustil couldn't hold back the dry chuckle that escaped his lips. "It's supposed to be the guy who asks the girl out!"

gEven so, what is your answer?"

Dustil smiled, then his expression changed to a thoughtful one. "I have conditions."

gWhat?"

gNo disguises, no more riddles, and I want to know your real name."

Bee smiled, or rather her mask moved in such a way that it indicated that she too had smiled. "You can have that, as soon as you come back. Then there will be no more secrets between us. All will become clear, I promise you."

gUntil then, Bee," he said, striding off in the direction of the craft.

------------------------------------------------

Minutes later, the vessel shot into the atmosphere, becoming smaller and smaller until it couldn't be seen at all. Morningstar and Bee stood side by side, watching it go.

gWhat happens now?" said Bee softly.

gNow we wait," said Morningstar, "Marka and Revan will be going soon to their respective locations, I have done all I can to help them. But the third serpent is about to rear its ugly head, and we will be needed then. But for the rest of the day, we can relax and recover our strength. We leave for Coruscant tomorrow."

gWill we win?"

Morningstar sighed, "My visions did not allow me to see the end. At this point, I am almost at my limit of what I know will happen. I've set everything in motion that I can."

gThat was cruel, what you did to Revan. You knew how that would turn out."

gYou know why I did it."

gNone of them will thank you for it, even if everything turns out the way you hope. And _he _will definitely figure out what you did."

Morningstar sighed again, "Enough, Banali, that was the chance I took. I do regret it, I regret that it was necessary. It was nothing personal, but if those two get attached, it could well jeopardise the stability of the entire Jedi order. We won't discuss this any more, it is done."

gThey might anyway," Bee muttered audibly.

------------------------------------------------

**Coruscant, Docks**

It was raining outside, and bitterly cold. Small hailstones were mingled with the downpour, creating tapping noises as they rebounded off the ships and landing pad. The other Jedi nearby shimmered as the rain and hail bounced off a weak shield, maintained with minimal use of the Force.

But not Revan O'neiro.

Although he could easily have forgone getting wet and cold, he chose rather to savour the discomfort. He deserved far more for his actions the previous night. Perhaps if he punished himself enough, he could forget what had transpired. Perhaps he could forget what Bastila, his wife, had told him.

_gNever, I loved you once, and I'll always treasure the time we had. But it's over between us, I'll be filing for a divorce, as soon as I find a way to do so that won't cause a scandal. Don't think this is just about the other night, it would have happened anyway."_

Damn it, it was hard not to hate Marka. He was the one adored by the masses, more importantly adored by Bastila. He had as much power and influence as Revan had had immediately after the Mandalorian wars. No, more, for he had the entire Jedi order behind him. He could pity the other man for losing his wife, but why then did he have to go and steal his?

Kaah Ohtok stood in the shadow of his craft, talking to a man Revan recognised as the personal aide to the two previous chancellors he had met. Was he the current one's aide? What was his name again, Treken something. In any case, he seemed to have a lot to talk about with Kaah. The purple twi-lek was leaving for the frontlines with a few junior Jedi knights, taking Marka and Bastila's place. He was also taking two of Bastila's Battle Meditation students. Originally Marka and Bastila would have gone finish the war off quickly, but with the recent developments rendering Marka unavailable they had all thought it was wiser to keep Bastila in reserve; in case the hidden Sith tried anything while they were at their weakest. Kaah was a popular leader and a talented fighter, probably the next best that they could send.

Revan watched as Jedi and high-ranking officials came to bid farewell, mostly to Marka but some for Mical and Kaah, while he stood away; ignored. All had been told that they were all going off to Nal Hutta to fight. Most he didn't know, but he recognised Admiral Dordonna, she had stopped to speak to Mical; for some reason she was wearing senator's robes. Things had changed while he'd been away. She must have seen him, but gave no indication of it. The Jedi council was there, but besides those he had met in the earlier meeting he recognised none, save Astin Lamar and Vandar Tokare. The tiny Jedi master at least acknowledged him with a smile and nod, but Lamar looked pointedly away. Of course, that one was still under heavy suspicion for being a Sith.

He had felt lonely before, but never quite as sharply as now. His wife had abandoned him for his brother, ostracising him from them. About the only friend he had left was his padawan, Hugas, but he was staying on Coruscant under Bastila's guidance since he would be useless against Korgul. Carth was dead, he had just discovered to his shock. He wished that the news could have filled his heart with rage at Korgul's deed, but it did nothing to subdue his fear of facing him again. His other old comrades were spread far and wide, and with the sole exception of Canderous, he had no way of contacting them. He truly was alone in the universe.

There was a flash of blue at the edge of his vision, he had to force himself not to react as if it was an enemy, remembering what had happened with Bastila. Besides, he recognised the Force-signature. It was Mission! She flung herself onto him with such an abandon for propriety that he couldn't help but smile, before being nearly choked.

gNever! I didn't know you were going to be here," the blue twi-lek exclaimed gleefully, her lekku trembling with excitement.

gMission," said Revan in a strangled tone, as he firmly undid her grip, "What are you doing here?"

gI came to see husband off, but they said nothing about you being here as well."

gHusband?" said Revan blankly, his mind reeling. Little Mission, Married! That was almost too much to take in. What she said next nearly floored him.

gYou've met Kaah I think, he and I have been married three years now. If I'd known you'd be here I'd have brought our son Valour too."

Gods, how things had changed. And yet still, life had gone on without him to supervise. While some things had gone terribly wrong, there was a place for beauty and harmony to exist and thrive. He could feel the love and closeness Mission felt for her husband and child even as she spoke about them, and it heartened him. They kept talking, time whizzing by as they caught up with all that had gone on in each others lives. Never even felt comfortable with her to enough to mention the fight and his split with Bastila, she was good enough to listen and offer sympathy without meaningless advice.

The rest of the farewell party was beginning to move off in small groups, Revan noticed Kaah looking patiently on, obviously waiting for his wife. Mission noticed too, she pulled him into one last embrace.

gTake care of yourself, big brother," she said, giving an extra squeeze, "And come back to me."

gI will," he said, and watched her go to her waiting husband.

He wished it hadn't felt so much like a lie. He was practically going to his own execution, for the sake of his child that he had never met. _At least, _he thought sardonically, _the executioner is a professional. No sense in getting killed by an amateur._

He glanced at the three craft which were to take him, his brother and Kaah to their respective locations. The rain had lessened to a drizzle by now, but most of the farewell party had already left. About the only ones left were the departee's significant other. Mission and Kaah stood leaning into each other, stroking each other's lekku. Mical and Brianna were sitting side by side, speaking and kissing at intervals. Revan felt a pang of jealousy, seeing what they had; but it was nothing compared to the maelstrom of emotions he felt when his eyes flicked to Marka and Bastila, who were standing with both hands linked, staring into each others eyes and quietly talking. A lightsaber through his chest would have hurt less.

He walked into his craft, alone, even though it wasn't quite time to leave yet. He just couldn't stand seeing them together any longer.

------------------------------------------------

_The next day_

**Jedi Temple, Grandmaster's chambers**

Bastila sat cross legged on the floor of the room that, as Jedi grandmaster, she had sole rights to. As she meditated; or tried to; she replayed in her mind the climatic and emotional events of the two previous days, making sense of what she could. A part of her wished that she could have given her soon to be ex-husband another chance, but with what had happened that had never really been an option. She had made her bed now, and she would have to sleep in it.

The old saying flowed easily into her mind, and she shivered with longing as she remembered Marka's strong arms, his passion and power. She couldn't help but regret that they hadn't yet had a chance to come together as a man and woman, perhaps when he came back… If he came back. The fear returned, and with it the questions. What if he didn't? What if he died and Never survived, what then would she do? Would she go back to him? The best case would be if they both survived, in that case Bastila resolved that she would at least go through with the divorce before getting intimate with Marka.

She could hardly hope that Never died and Marka survived, that was far too selfish. No, she resolved, she wouldn't even consider it. And yet… it would make things easier on her and Marka, not having his shadow constantly over them. _Stop that, _she abashed herself angrily,_ even _if _he dies just the knowledge that he saw us together would leave a shade. Besides, if Marka's prophecy means anything, he just has to live, or we cannot possibly beat the Sith._

The door burst open, startling Bastila out of her thoughts. Brianna at the doorway, her pale cheeks slightly pink. Her Force-aura's spoke volumes, even if her face didn't. She was focused, determined, yet full of indecision. That indecision was tinged with fear, but not fear for herself or someone else, at least; not directly. No, it was fear for something else, something greater?

gMaster Bastila…" Brianna began.

gCut the formalities, Brianna," Bastila snapped, "What's happened?"

She had never really spoken to the woman without Mical being around, had never got to know her socially. Talking to her now, in what could quite possibly be a perilous situation, was awkward. They didn't have a background to draw upon, for all intents and purposes they were strangers. He was the only link between them.

gThe senate has drawn up a new defence plan," said the white-haired Echani. "They're going to vote on it today!"

It took a moment for the enormity of the situation to sink in. "We had a perfect defence plan for the Sith invasion," said Bastila blankly, "Why would they change it."

The defence plan, and the provisions it made, had taken the best part of a month for the Republic's most senior and experienced generals, marshals, admirals and Jedi masters to draw up. It covered, as fully as any plan could, what should be done in the case of the invasion beginning at certain parts of the outer rim; how they would force them back and make them pay a huge toll for every planet they took. If this plan was in any way inferior, the Sith might just be able to gain a foothold with relative ease. Bastila had little doubt that it was, neither she nor Marka had been consulted in its making. It was also suspicious that they were pushing for it to be passed unnaturally fast while Marka was away.

gThere were always concerns amongst the senate that too many resources were being allocated to the defence of the outer rim, even though they aren't officially part of the Republic. You know how many senators voiced fears that their systems would be largely undefended should the Sith break through. Well, whoever drew up this plan played to those fears. There will be little defence of the outer rim, instead each system will have their own security forces, while only about half the military would be free to move to hot-spots."

gI wonder who could have drawn up a plan like that," snarled Bastila sarcastically.

It was almost certainly a move by the hidden Sith Lords. Although she didn't let it show, in her heart she was worried. No, more than worried, she was forcing herself not to give in to mind-numbing terror. Such a populist move would immediately draw senators in in droves, and with the fears that had built up since the betrayal of the Hutts and the beginning of the Suppression War; not to mention the old fears lingering from the bloody past decade, even more would be swayed. While it was nice to think that there would be forward-thinking and intelligent senators who would fight to the death to oppose such a bill, the fact was that there wouldn't be enough of them. If the Chancellor put his weight behind the bill, it would be passed. No doubt about it. And since he was probably a Sith, there was a good chance he would.

gThe Chancellor?" she said, holding her breath.

gHe signed his full endorsement of the plan an hour ago," said Brianna, confirming her fears. "The whole thing was meant to be a secret, but I have contacts in his bodyguard."

Bastila could feel cold creep up her legs and arms, numbness swathing her. _This can't be happening, not now. Where's Marka, where's Never? Hell, where's Mical? No, get a grip, you're the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order. You can do this, don't give in to fear!_ She straitened her back and clenched her fists, wracking her brain for idea's of what to do. By the way Brianna was looking at her, she was expecting her to come up with the answer.

What could they do? They couldn't stop the senate, that was beyond their control. They couldn't appeal to the Judicial system to stop, or at least slow the bill, its powers had been suspended in the wake of the Suppression War. _Think, think, what would Marka do?_ The answer was simple, he would track down the one responsible and kill him. And he would do so with so much conviction and strength that nobody would even dare question his righteousness. Could she act like him? It seemed like his type of direct approach was the only way to tackle the obstacle before them.

She drew a breath. "Brianna, gather together those we know we can trust; those who were there in the last meeting," she was referring to the last gathering of Marka's inner circle, "We cannot let word get out of what we're about to do, the military would turn against us, even some Jedi might. Certainly I cannot imagine Master Vandar endorsing this course of action. But I can see no other way."

Brianna nodded, "You're going to arrest the Chancellor of the Galactic Republic," she said. It wasn't a question.

Bastila turned away, staring out the window, "On the suspicion of being a Sith. You have enough evidence, I understand."

gWe could lose the chance of finding the other Sith Lord," Brianna warned, "The one in the Jedi council. We still don't know who he, or she, is. This action will certainly drive them undercover, even if it does work."

gIf we can capture the Chancellor, we can get him to squeal. I understand that the true Sith learn techniques that make ours look like child's play. I'm sure at least one of ours could be persuaded to put aside his new path for a few hours - or days."

gYou're going to torture the Chancellor!" said Brianna, her pale blue eyes widening.

gWe can if he's a Sith," Bastila countered grimly.

gIf we're wrong, and we end up torturing an innocent man," said Brianna, "It will be the end of the Jedi order. We would lose all credibility and regard, and be outcast from the Republic." She spoke softly, but her voice carried volumes around the room.

Bastila shivered, it was like the other woman had bound them in a spell. "That's a risk I'm prepared to take," she said with a confidence she did not feel.

The silence was oppressive. Finally Brianna spoke, "So it's all or nothing; a gamble. If it works, we might have a chance; if it doesn't, we lose immediately." There was another heavy silence as she finished speaking, the air seemed to thicken with pressure. After ten long and awkward seconds, she said, "I'll go and get the others," and exited.

Bastila immediately started pacing, then sat down and tried to meditate again. Peace though just would not come.

------------------------------------------------

**Hyperspace, en route to Nal Hutta**

The first great explorers had said that space was a very lonely place. Then again, they had been working with sub-light engines, and spent years at a time exploring faraway systems. All of Revan's space journeys had taken less than a week, even the longest ones, and this one was less than two days; one of which he had already completed. But this was the first time he had travelled alone since returning from the Sith Empire nearly a year ago, his heart hadn't been as burdened then.

He checked his ships instruments again, cautious for any unnatural variance. There was a small carbon leak in the starboard engine, he had noticed it before, it was nothing serious and could easily be patched up as soon as he arrived. Satisfied, Revan got up and looked around for something to do.

Besides being lonely, it was incredibly boring not to have anybody to talk to. He couldn't risk making any calls, simply because if he did and they were intercepted, their enemies might realise that he and Marka had swapped places. Sure he was making some phoney calls, with the made-up scars on his face, to prevent anybody from getting suspicious; but it wasn't the same. The only other thing he had to do was brood over his many problems, which wasn't healthy.

He needed to be doing something, anything, to take his mind off it. The ship had a small cargo hold, which had been cleared out enough that he could do basic stretches and workouts in it. He had exercised heavily yesterday, and it had helped, but he wanted to conserve his energy today so that he was be in peak form to he face Korgul. He considered watching a bit of mind-numing entertainment on holo-net, but he had to have all his wits about him for the fight, and really needed to be doing something useful about now.

Then he remembered the information Marka had given him, all that he knew about Korgul. Revan had been through it all before, a long time ago, he doubted that reviewing it again would yield any new insight into the man's character or abilities. Still, it couldn't hurt. He went to his locker to retrieve his data pad and the relevant information clip.

Sitting back down on the pilots seat, Revan allowed his eyes to skim through the data. He read what was known about Korgul Juglur, as well as what was rumoured about him. Then he read the accounts of the attack on the Dark Lord, the reason why Korgul had come into being, as well as an in-depth record of all four apprentices characters -the ones it was suspected that one of them had become Korgul-. Korven Naj, Lurpa Claiton, Gulnion S'reida and Jugun Sorge. Which of them, if any, was Korgul?

Korgul was almost certainly a man, so he could rule out Lurpa immediately. In terms of skill, by all reports Gulnion had been a predominant Force-user, and mediocre with lightsabers. That ruled him out too. So was it Korvem or Jugun? Both were strong fighters, and both seemed probable possibilities. The only thing that made Korvem seem more likely was that he'd had a fetish for collecting heads. But that wasn't enough to prove him the Dark Lord's assassin. After an hour of going over again the various reports of their characters, some conflicting at places, Revan was bored again.

gWho is it," he said aloud, with nobody to hear him, "Who is Korgul, Korvem or Jugun?"

He felt foolish, talking to himself with no-one to hear. But by the same token, nobody would ever know, so why not act a little foolish, if only to prove to himself that he could.

gKor or Jug," he muttered absurdly, "I wonder if it's Kor or Jug. Its not Lur or…" The sounds clicked together in his mind, sobering him immediately. "Jug…Lur, Juglur. Korvem, Kor; Gulnion, Gul; Korgul. Kor-Gul Jug-Lur. Korgul Juglur."

It was so obvious, how could he have not seen it before? The man's name was made up of the first syllable of each of the apprentices names. But why? It must be a message, for those intelligent enough to see it.

gHe's four people, at once," he said aloud as he realised it. Three men and a woman? "Impossible!"

But with Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Messiah, there seemed to be little that was. He must have performed terrible experiments on them, and somehow fused their souls together in a single body. Apparently the Force-dead were manufactured from living people with an affinity to the Force using unspeakable methods, the Dark Lord must have being trying to take it to the next level. That could explain his impossible strength and speed. But if the experiment had been a success, why weren't there more Korgul's? Were there more Korgul's? Was that what gave him his strange abilities, or was it something else? He could go on like this forever.

There were so many questions that needed to be answered, just knowing this did nothing to help him. But one thing was for certain, he was an aberration to the Living Force, as bad or worse than Jezebel Torin. For the sake of life itself; not only the Republic; he had to be exterminated, and all others like him.

The final question was, as always: how?

------------------------------------------------

**Coruscant, Outside the Parliament**

Bastila had to suppress a shudder as they strode into sight of the tall doors of the Senate building. There were guards there, at least a dozen. There was no way they were going to let them in without a fight, they were trained to resist Jedi mind-tricks. It struck her again what they were about to do, raising arms against their own people, against the very legislative body they were sworn to protect. What they were about to do constituted high treason.

She turned around to face those with her. Flanking her was Brianna, she was probably the strongest fighter there besides herself. Behind them were Laman and Venoak, the two ex-Sith Council Members, Marka's lieutenants. Past them; Cora and Lydale, Marka's padawan and ex-padawan. Finally there was Hugas, Revan's padawan, hiding among the others; which didn't work very well since he bigger than them. Bastila took comfort in their presence, they were some of the most powerful Jedi in the order, all had agreed that this was the only possible course of action.

gWhat's wrong, Bastila?" said Brianna, she must have been stalling longer than she had realised.

gNothing," she replied, "Are you all ready?"

They gave various words of assent, Bastila closed her eyes for a moment. There were no more words to be said, they all knew what they were about to do, they all knew how much rode on this action. Taking a deep breath, she hardened her heart and snapped her eyes open. "Lets go."

In arrowhead formation, the Jedi marched forward. The guards challenged them, naturally, stating that the senate was in session and could not be disturbed. All of them were struck at the same moment by a flurry of Force-waves, they flew back and crashed into the walls and door, stunned. The Jedi quickly locked them up with Durasteel cuffs and taped their mouths, before opening the doors and hiding them just inside.

gDid you manage to stop the camera's?" Bastila asked as they started down the passage.

gIt was easy," Brianna shrugged.

gAnd the guard's alarms?"

gNone of them managed to use any."

So their presence was, as yet, unnoticed. How long would that last?

------------------------------------------------

**Lehon (Rakatan Prime) Beach**

Marka sat on a rock, gingerly feeling himself for more injuries. Further away were the smoking remains of the craft that had taken him and Mical there. They had never known, flying here, if the disruption field would be active or not. Apparently it was. It had forced them to make a crash landing that had nearly killed them both, only their ability to use the Force had saved them. Mical's curses were still filling the air, he seemed to have run out of good ones in the first few minutes and was now repeating himself. In any other situation, he might have been marginally amused, he had never imagined Mical losing his temper. As it was, with Jezebel so close and now no means of escape, he was just concentrating on keeping calm and focused.

Marka reached into his medical kit and pulled out a small injection of painkiller, which he shot into his abdomen. He was on the mend, but it still hurt a lot, he couldn't have any distractions today if he was to survive. Mical gave the ship one last kick, and walked towards him, muttering darkly.

gHow far to the Temple?" said Marka, rising to his feet carefully. If the disruption field had been activated, there was no doubt that Jezebel was in there.

gJust over the next rise," said Mical, consulting the rude map Revan had given them. His face was still red, but at least he appeared calmer now.

gHow do I look?"

gLike him."

Together they walked towards the massive Temple. They could feel the huge fluctuations of power coming from inside, neither knew if was coming from the Temple, Jezebel, or both. Lehon was an exotically beautiful planet, even if it did have smashed remains of ships all over it, it seemed almost ironic that such an important battle would be fought here. The name of the planet too was ironic, it was the same as the name of Revan and Bastila's child who they were here to rescue. Both were named after Bastila's late father, Lehon Shan. Marka put it out of his mind as he walked, and centred himself.

Somewhere within that massive stone pyramid, Jezebel was waiting.

------------------------------------------------

**Nal Hutta, Abandoned Town **

Nal Hutta was a truly light-forsaken planet. For as far as Dustil could see, it seemed to be an endless murky swamp. The air was thick with the smog of dirty industry, it was so bad that he had to use a filter to be able to breathe. How the Hutts could have named this their 'glorious jewel' was quite beyond him.

At least where he was standing, the ground was level and raised above the swamps. Dustil had learned a little about archaeology during his time at the Korriban academy, enough to gather a bit about the place where he stood. There were a few cracked parts of walls littering the area, some close enough to give an indication where the buildings had once stood. These were nothing like Huttese ruins, whoever had built this settlement was long gone, ten thousand years or more. They must have raised the land around the time that the swamps were encroaching around them. Dustil suddenly had a chilling image of sentients, similar to humans, being trapped on this terrible world and slowly dying of the toxins in the air and water.

Glancing back, Dustil saw the body of the Phantom he'd found guarding the area. What had he called himself? Damn, he'd been good, that one. He'd been forced to use a charge from each sword to defeat him, leaving only two charges in the Sword of Mercy and three in the Sword of Vengeance. Aah, Alpha, that had been his name. Hopefully the rest of the Phantoms weren't as strong as him, or they were in very deep trouble.

A light caught his attention, it was a small ship coming in to land. That would be Revan, according to what Morningstar had told him to expect. He would have to land here, there simply wasn't another dry patch of land for hundreds, if not thousands of kilometres, making it an excellent spot for Dustil to meet him.

Korgul would be here soon, now that the person that appeared to be Marka had arrived. Could they defeat him? Morningstar had said they could. Would they? That he hadn't said.

------------------------------------------------

_A/N: This is the penultimate part, thirteen is the finale of the series. I apologise in advance, but it is twice as long as most of my other parts; I simply couldn't find a way to split it. There will be a short epilogue following, just to round a few things off, then it's finished. Hope you've all enjoyed so far. As always, any and all reviews are appreciated._

_PS: I tried to read my old word the other day (Exodus) and I nearly died. The writing is so bad. On the plus side, it does mean I've improved. But even still..._


	13. The Hearts of the Force

_A/N: Sorry for the extra-long piece, but I felt there was no way I could split this part into two without butchering the flow. Anyways, this concludes the action part of the story, there will be a short epilogue following to round off the rest. I must confess that this was by far the most fun I've had writing, I hope you enjoy it as much. Please be sure to let me know what you thought. Thats is all._

**Star Wars: The Dark Empire**

**Episode 2 - Jenesis**

**Part 13 - The Hearts of the Force**

**Lehon, (Rakatan Prime) Temple**

Mical had expected the Temple to be sealed by a impenetrable Force-field, that was what Revan had told them to expect. The entrance though was wide open, but guarded by two men armed with long double-bladed staffs. There was something strange about them, although their faces were set their eyes were blank, as though dazed. Mical reached out to them with the Force, and recoiled instantly. They had been stripped of all free will! That they were bonded to Jezebel was plain as day, her scent reeked off them, but they had been bonded so strongly that they were little more than puppets.

gMarka…" he began.

gI know," said the other man.

Mical started forward, reaching for his double-bladed lightsaber, then abruptly realised that Marka wasn't with him. Turning back, he saw the man in meditation position, his lips moving soundlessly. Mical waited for him, he had seen Force-based communication before, a few minutes later Marka's eyes flicked open and he stood up.

gThat was Jezebel," he said, confirming Mical's suspicions, "She's at the top of the Temple, waiting for us. She told me to say hello to you, she's glad you came as well to witness my destruction."

gSo she thinks you're Revan?"

gApparently. The rest of what she said was just gloating, what she's going to do to me when she gets me, but she did also state that she has about fifty of her people scattered around the Temple for us to fight."

gFifty," said Mical, slightly startled. "But if they're all like those guards they couldn't possibly be a match for us, and if we kill them; since they are bonded to her; she would surely be weakened. What could she possibly gain by pitting them against us."

gNo matter how weak your opponent," said Marka, "If they outnumber you, your chances of losing multiply. Don't underestimate them."

gI won't," said Mical, "But still, I thought she wanted to kill you, or rather Revan, personally."

gDon't try and understand her, her mind is unhinged," said Marka, and started striding towards the entrance. Mical quickly fell in beside him. Privately, he disagreed, Jezebel knew exactly what she was doing; everything she had done for the last year and a half had been for a reason; to kill Revan. This was supposed to be the moment of her final triumph, what was she aiming for but pitting them against her underlings?

------------------------------------------------

**Coruscant, the Senate Building**

The senate was in shock. Cora couldn't blame them. It had been in session when the Jedi led by Bastila had walked in and calmly called a halt to the proceedings. There had been moments of appalled silence, then they had stated their intent to arrest the Chancellor on the suspicion of being a Sith. Then the whispers had began. 'The chancellor, no, could it really be?' 'Not a chance, the Jedi are trying to take political power from the senate.' 'That can't be true!' The walls seemed to hum with vibrations, which grew progressively louder.

gLies," cried chancellor Agrippal, "Guards, seize them."

No guards came though, they had already made sure that those in the near vicinity had been subdued and restrained. They'd been lucky, only one guard had been killed, and that had been because another's gun had gone off when he'd been hit by a Force-wave. Cora had used up her entire inventory of twelve cuffs, and most of the others were nearly out. With no-one answering his call, the chancellor seemed to deflate. She could see fear in his eyes.

gYou are finished," stated Bastila as she indicated with her hand. Immediately the chancellor's box began to lower. "From the most lofty heights of power, you fall. But then it could only have ended this way."

Cora studied Bastila as the woman's blue eye's followed Agrippal down. When she had discovered what was happening between her and Marka, she had felt both devastated and betrayed. After all, she had taken the woman into her confidence only to have her take the man she wanted. But if she was being perfectly honest with herself, Marka had never shown the slightest indication that he felt anything towards her, or even that he desired her. If she had come onto him, it probably just would have resulted in embarrassment for both of them. Well, maybe more for her. At least the other woman had been good enough to come to her afterwards, explain the situation, and apologise. But that didn't stop the hurting.

The chancellor's box had reached the floor now, and the two men stepped out of it. Agrippal was looking around wildly, as if seeking a means to escape. Rae, his aide, merely stood; flicking his eyes from his liege to the Jedi come to arrest him. Then the senate doors on the other side of the room burst open, revealing a small crowd of Jedi, led by Master's Astin Lamar, Vandar Tokare and Tathleen. Cora quickly estimated that there were about thirty of them.

gWhat are you doing here," Bastila called out as the Jedi marched towards them.

gWe're here to arrest a Sith Lord," replied Lamar.

gWe have it under control."

gThe chancellor isn't the one we want. No, the Sith Lord we are here to arrest is you, Bastila."

------------------------------------------------

Bastila was so shocked that the world seemed to reel, she could feel the blood pounding in her head. It wasn't the accusation itself that bothered her, although she knew that with her history with Darth Malak they would have some substance to their allegations, it was the realisation that the hidden Sith had been prepared for this move, and they were about to turn it on its head. They were terribly outnumbered, to pursue their case would result in a hopeless fight against their fellow Jedi, creating strife in amongst the order. It didn't matter that the other hidden Sith was manipulating them all, that it was probably Lamar, and to accuse him now would do nothing.

gHow dare you," barked the voice of Cora Qel'Droma, "She is the Grandmaster of the Jedi order, apologise at once!"

Bastila was glad to see the woman backing her immediately, given what had happened between them in the past few days. But the woman had no head for strategies and subtleties, she probably hadn't yet realised what was taking place in front of her eyes.

gNot a chance," sneered Astin. "Either she comes with us, or else…" he drew and ignited his lightsaber, snap-hisses filled the air as the Jedi backing him followed his lead.

This had gone far enough, the senators were in danger. Bastila had no idea what would go down, she didn't have nearly enough men to protect them. "CLEAR THE SENATE," she cried, using the Force to enhance her vocal power and add a sense of urgency to her words. "ALL SENATORS OUT."

Most didn't need to be asked twice, they were scrambling from their seats immediately for the relative safety of the back rooms and upper levels. It was unlikely that all of them would be evacuated from the building in time should any serious fighting take place, but at least they were out of the immediate line of fire. Strangely, some senators remained in their seat, sensing that a pivotal moment in the Republic's history was happening and considering the risk a fair trade in order to observe it.

As the last of the senator's who wanted to left the auditorium, Bastila took a deep breath. "I suppose that the basis of this accusation is my history with Malak." Vandar was one of the few who knew about her time as his apprentice, but since he was in their group they must know.

gYou were seduced by the dark side and took up the mantle of Dark Lord's apprentice. Do you deny this?"

There was a collective gasp from those following her. She wasn't surprised, of them only Brianna knew of that part of her past, and possibly Hugas.

gNo. But I've since repented, I walk in the light."

gNot according to the evidence we've collected," said Astin. "It all points to your being a Sith Lord. I have numerous tapes of you plotting with the Sith Marka against the Republic."

gDon't you dare speak of him that way," said Bastila, her face going white with anger.

gYou see, you can't even control your emotions. You are a Sith. Bastila Shan Oneiro, you are coming with us."

Bastila swallowed her fury, thinking hard. She was suddenly very glad of those supporting her, any other Jedi would have probably turned their back on her by now. Not this group. Brianna had already known about her past through Mical, both Laman and Venoak had been Sith at one point and knew better than anybody about redemption, Lydale and Cora were both loyal to Marka; and since he trusted her absolutely by extension they did too, and Hugas had probably already known. Even still, she couldn't let this turn ugly, they were outnumbered four to one. And at all costs, she couldn't let Jedi kill Jedi.

gVery well," she said, "I will go with you. But only if you allow my men take the Chancellor into custody."

gWe can't let you do that, no matter the reason," said Master Tathleen. "It would divide the Republic."

gWe have evidence!" Brianna said uncharacteristically loudly.

gYou probably cooked it up," Astin countered.

gAnd you didn't?" Cora cried incredulously.

The tension in the room was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. By now every Jedi in the room had his or her lightsaber ignited, save only Bastila and Master Vandar. The silent spectators looked on from above, gripping the edges of their seats, some of them finally deciding that it might be best to leave.

gIt seems that we have no choice," said Astin coldly. "I had hoped to avoid killing Jedi, even ones with doubtful loyalties, but I will not let a known Sith Lord go free. Jedi, str…"

A massive doorway between the two groups burst open, flooding the room with sudden blinding light. In the light there were silhouetted two figures. Shielding her eyes, Bastila was sure that the same question had occurred to everybody in the room; who or what were they. And whose side were they on?

------------------------------------------------

**Nal Hutta, Abandoned Town**

Revan had scarcely exited his craft when he saw it, a shape running towards him with impossible speed. It would have been invisible, except that it cut through the soft mist of the swamps in its haste to reach him on dry land, not to mention the splashes it made with every step. It could only be Korgul. Revan drew and ignited his white-cored; blue rimmed double-bladed lightsaber, and moved to a defensive-ready stance.

The splashes ended as he reached the dry land where Revan was waiting. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the air currents to know where his opponent was, while simultaneously using the Force to negate his own premonition sense and power his body enough to allow him to use the Yoshi Ma form at a moments notice. His premonition would do nothing for him against his Force-dead opponent, it would only allow his enemy to draw a fraction of it himself. The same was true about his powering himself up, but he needed that to face Korgul, who was naturally so much stronger and impossibly fast.

The assassin sprinted in, then veered off to the side at the last moment, igniting his lightsaber blade for a single strike. Revan blocked and countered, a move that would have been impossible with a single blade, but the assassin was already out of range. This was pure reflexes at work, neither had any way of anticipating their opponents actions except by observing their movements. He swooped in for a second attack, this time Revan was nearly caught by a feint and escaped by a hairs breath, his counterstroke all but shaved Korgul's head. Both were playing to their strengths, Korgul using his speed and invisibility to the full while Revan capitalised on his control of the double-bladed lightsaber. Once again the Phantom's master ran past him, then came back in from a different angle.

Korgul attacked as fast a diving falcon, again only igniting his blade at the last moment. This time he engaged fully, slashing from the hip. Revan caught it with his back-blade, and sent the other half of his weapon chopping down on the others head. Korgul was fast, and sidestepped, sending a rim poise back instantly. Revan caught it with his blade and rolled it away, while swinging his weapon around to strike at his legs. The assassin jumped over it, slashing at his face. Revan ducked below, let go of his lightsaber with his left hand, and grabbed a small pouch on his belt. Raising his head, he threw the contents at Korgul.

The assassin backed off, and Revan finally opened his eyes. Korgul's suit was no longer making him invisible, it was flashing strange colours at different areas; making him anything but. The Phantom's master reached inside and turned it off, making it revert to its shimmering silver base, then removed his mask.

gHow did you do that," he said, suppressed anger flashing in his blood-red eyes.

gI figured out how your suit works," said Revan, releasing his sense of the air currents, he could rely on his eyes now. "Most stealth generators work by distorting the flow of light around the user through energy fields, but this makes them easy to track through the Force and specialised sensors. Your suit though senses the light coming in from every angle, and replicates it on the other side, a perfect chameleon suit. Truly an amazing piece, whoever made it is far ahead of current technology."

gWhat did you do?"

Revan held up the now empty pouch, "Magnetised iron granules. They cling to your suit even now, distorting the sensors and disrupting the flow of information, forcing it to make errors and thereby neutralising your invisibility."

Korgul looked down at the thin layer covering him, and tried to brush his chest off. But while they could be shifted, they still clung to him. The assassin lord gave a short laugh. "You truly are your father's son, Revan Oneiro, it's a pity you never will meet him. He would be very pleased at how you've turned out."

gI am Marka," said Revan.

gPlease, don't insult my intelligence. I know Marka's fighting style, I studied it for months, yours is different. He's not as smart as you, he wouldn't have come up with such a solution for my suit. And those scars, while they appear real enough, aren't real indentations in the skin."

Revan let out an exasperated breath, he had spent hours in front of a mirror getting them just right. He might as well not have bothered. "What have you done with your hostage?"

gI have neither of them, they are both with Jezebel the Exile. I assume that's where your -friend- Marka is going. But he cannot possibly beat her, and since you're not there she will kill them both."

gMy _brother _will win, he always does," said Revan stoutly. It felt good showing the man that they had learned of their relationship since Telos. "And he will bring back our children safely."

gSo you know about that," said Korgul, "You probably know that you share a common father, but what you probably didn't know was that your mothers were first cousins; once removed."

gSo who was our father?" he said, unable to contain his curiosity.

The other man raised his hand and waggled his finger, "Aah now, that would be telling."

gWhy not, seeing as how I'm about to die?"

The Phantom's master didn't reply, his expression becoming deliberately schooled. Revan studied his response and tucked it away to study later.

gIf you won't tell me that, at least tell me why you came at me like you did. You had to have known I would spot you."

Korgul gave a grin that would have done any canine predator proud, "That would have been too easy, I don't get enough good opponents to waste what ones I have on quick kills."

gMind if I join the party?" said a new voice. Revan turned sharply, he hadn't sensed him coming. Of course, given that he'd purposefully disabled his Force-senses to prevent Korgul from benefiting from them it wasn't that surprising. It struck him how much he relied on those abilities, perhaps too much. The newcomer was a tall young man in Jedi robes, but instead of lighsabers he had two swords strapped so that they crossed over his backside. His face, with its dark hair and high brows was familiar.

gYou're Dustil…Dustil Onasi," said Revan in shock. What was he doing here?

gI am," said Dustil, drawing his red sword and pointing it at Korgul, "And you are the bastard who killed my father!"

------------------------------------------------

**Coruscant, the Senate Building**

Orrin had just finished making a call to his girlfriend from the Jedi Temple when he'd run into Master Lamar. The man had told him about there being an insurrection by the Sith and traitorous Jedi at the senate, and ordered him to assist him in taking them down. So ten minutes later he found himself inside the auditorium, one of a group of thirty-five. It was strange; but he had noticed that while a dozen of them were little more than speaking acquaintances at best, the rest had some sort of unspoken understanding between them. Not only that, they seemed to be _excited _for some reason, like children going to a candy shop. Very strange. Especially coming from Jedi.

He had received the shock of his life to discover who the enemy was. It couldn't be Bastila! There was no way she was a Sith. He watched in mute horror as the events escalated, until they seemed to be about to attack the other group of Jedi; a group with four high council members in it. Then the door burst open, blinding him with the sudden brightness. As his eyes grew more accustomed to it, he could make out two dark shapes walking calmly in. The taller of the two gestured with his hand behind him, and the door shut. Now Orrin could see that he was wearing pure white robes, and there was a short woman with him in grey.

gWhy are you here, what do you want?" demanded Astin Lamar, taken off-balance.

gA few less questions from you, for a start," said the white robed one, and the Jedi Master bristled angrily. Light, what was it with his face, it was impossible to make out anything about it. Then the stranger started saying a whole list of names, apparently from memory, about a dozen in total. Orrin gave a start as his name was called. He recognised a few of the other names, including Master's Lamar and Tathleen. "Those whose names I just called out, form a separate group over there," he said, pointing at a space to the right. Orrin was reminded sharply of his middle school days.

gWho do you think you are, that you can order us around?" argued Tathleen.

gI am Morningstar, now move!" The words were said without heat, but there was a quiet power behind them that made Orrin start walking before he had even realised he was doing so. Around him the others were doing the same he saw, but he also noticed that those who hadn't been called were looking each other meaningfully; and now their glances at Orrin and those with him were openly hostile. He felt cold as their eyes touched him, there was definitely something not quite right about them. He stopped at the spot he'd been shown, and quickly counted ten with him, including Master Tathleen. Only Master Lamar had defiantly refused to move. Orrin supposed he could also have stayed, but truth be told he felt far better away from that creepy bunch.

gWe're here to arrest the Sith Bastila, we don't have time for your frippery," Lamar stated angrily. "I don't care if you're the Chosen One himself!"

gBastila," said Morningstar, ignoring the blustering Jedi Master.

gY…Yes, Morningstar," said Bastila, slightly wide eyed. Orrin couldn't blame her, this was a person whose deeds had been as well publicised recently as the entire Jedi orders, perhaps more. He wasn't entirely convinced yet, but boy even if it was an impostor they sure knew how to make an entrance.

gThe Chancellor is not a Sith Lord."

gBut how? We have conclusive evidence."

gOf course he isn't," said Lamar, but was cut off by Morningstar.

gHe is being controlled by his aide, a man who has been controlling many Chancellors before him, although never before quite so completely. The man currently standing next to him, Treken Rae. Otherwise known as Darth Feasance."

The Jedi and the aide looked at each other for an aghast moment, the spell was broken by Master Brianna grabbing him and forcing him into a painful looking one-arm lock. She patted him down with the other hand and produced a lightsaber, proof that he had Jedi or Sith training, while the man tried to stammer denials.

gImpossible," muttered Tathleen quietly, but none of the other onlookers were making a sound, and the word seemed to reverberate around the chamber.

gBut what about Bastila?" said Lamar, ignoring the struggling man.

gBesides her brief stint with Malak, she has never served the Dark Side," said Morningstar, "That evidence you have was planted by the other Sith Lord, Darth Lignance. _He__'__s standing right beside you, and all his hidden Sith followers are behind him.__"_

gEnough of this," cried Master Vandar, who had previously been silent, "Slaughter the Jedi!"

Everything happened at once, Vandar ignited his green blade to run through a stunned Astin Lamar. Treken Rae, Darth Feasance, blasted Master Brianna back with the Force; summoned his lightsaber and slashed the shocked Chancellor in half. Two of the Jedi with Bastila tried to attack him, he leapt high into the lowest senate boxes, out of their reach. Those who had just been named as Sith were running at Orrin's group in a loose pack with Master Vandar at their head. No, not Master Vandar, Sith Lord Darth Lignance.

Orrin drew his lightsaber and ignited it. Things were clear now, those were the Sith, they were the enemy. They had been betrayed by one of their most distinguished masters.

gFor the Republic and the Jedi," he shouted, and charged forward. Behind him, he could hear others taking up the cry.

There was no time for thought, for at that moment the two forces collided.

------------------------------------------------

**Lehon, Temple**

Marka stopped suddenly in the middle of the passage, clutching his heart.

gWhat's wrong?" said Mical, looking into his face.

gNothing," said Marka, "Let's keep going. We've killed thirty-nine of them already, there should only be a dozen or so left."

gThey are so far below our level," Mical muttered. "We may as well be murdering them in their sleep."

gI still had to save you when that one nearly dropped the ceiling on top of you, and the time you allowed five of them to surround you," Marka callously reminded him, the other man flushed.

gLets keep going," he agreed, and they jogged together down the ramp into the basement, which held the key to the door on the upper level.

It hadn't been nothing though, Marka had just been deflecting the other man's attention because he didn't want to engage in a discussion. Only a single pulse, but there could be no mistake. Just then, what he had felt had been the bond. His bond with his wife. Kaya, she was alive; but how? Had she been captured, or just hiding from him for some unknown reason. Considering what had happened recently between him and Bastila, he wasn't sure if he should be shocked or ecstatic.

But as he ran, his heart began to sing.

------------------------------------------------

**Nal Hutta, Abandoned Town**

Korgul Juglur was a master assassin. He had been killing Sith Masters that rebelled against his Lord for nearly a decade. But in all that time he had never been in a fight where he had felt threatened, like he might lose. Now, for the first time since his unnatural creation, he was beginning to. It wasn't a feeling he was used to, and had to call upon the residue memories of his components to know how to react.

Revan had obviously put some thought into how he was going to fight him, the iron granules trick proved it. But he was also making sure he wasn't using the Force for anything except powering up his body. Korgul could draw upon that, but only about a quarter of what he was using. The other one, the one Never had called Dustil, was using a strange pair of coloured swords. He would have thought him easy prey, except he wasn't using the Force at all and yet was moving as fast as one did using Yoshi Ma. His red blade was glowing faintly, making the source of his power obvious. What exactly were those swords?

Korgul manoeuvred deftly, making it difficult for them to come at him at the same time. He had the strength and speed of a Yoshi Ma user naturally, and was fortified by drawing upon Revan's residue, but he was also outnumbered. It was a delicate situation, the first to strike a solid blow would certainly win. If he was wounded he would be quickly taken down, and if he wounded either of them he would be able to cut down their fellow.

It was also different to the fights he was used to in that he couldn't draw upon his opponents premonition, since they were purposefully blocking it. So nobody could sense any blows coming, it was almost like a fight between three ordinary swordsmen. In a fight between Jedi or Sith, they were constantly attacking and blocking, confident that they could sense their opponents blows coming; which was why they were so weak against the Force-dead. Ordinary swordsmen pulled back a lot more, dodging, manoeuvring and retreating far more than blocking. Those fights weren't nearly as exciting to watch, from an outsiders perspective, but Korgul could attest to the fact that they were far more intense for the ones involved.

Revan came at him first this time, giving a double slash with his double-blades. Korgul put them both out with his cortortis sword, but had to block then leap away as Dustil came at him from an angle. Before they could recover he ran in, but then veered off to the side as Dustil moved to take him head-on while Revan had positioned himself to back him up. For a moment they stared at each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

Then the faint light coming from the red sword flickered and went out. Korgul stared at it, what did that mean? Dustil noticed too, and stuck his blue sword into the ground in front of him. Then he cut his wrist, and smeared his own blood all the way down the blade. As soon as he reached the tip, it started glowing again, only slightly brighter than before. Korgul cursed under his breath as the other man retrieved his sword, he should have attacked then.

One thing he did notice was that both men were showing signs of fatigue already. He was getting tired too, but judging by their breathing they were further along than him. He knew how Yoshi Ma drained the user, it seemed that the red sword did too, to a similar extent. The way to win was simple, he would outlast them.

------------------------------------------------

**Coruscant, the Senate Building**

Bastila stood in open mouth shock, struggling to believe what had just happened. Lamar, dead, the Chancellor, dead. And neither had been a Sith, just unwitting pawns in a massive game that had been exposed only by Morningstar's revelations. She shuddered to think what would have happened if he hadn't come.

The other Jedi who had been separated from the Sith by Morningstar's orders were busy engaging them, and being cut down one after another by their better-coordinated and more numerous enemy. They weren't breaking though, she recognised young Orrin leading them in an organised fighting retreat. He could go far, that one. Meanwhile the one Sith Lord, the one who used to be the Chancellors aide, was standing in a senate box above them and hurling other boxes at them thick and fast with the Force; not caring if there were people inside them or not. Her small force was knocking them away as quickly as they came, but it was preventing them from helping the others.

There was a flash of white as Morningstar leapt, and the barrage stopped. Looking up, Bastila saw him locking blades with the Sith Lord. He was using a double-bladed lightsaber, which wasn't that unusual; except that it was turquoise. Bastila had only ever seen one Jedi with a blade-colour like that. _Kaya! _As she stared more intently, she realised that whatever shield he'd placed on his face was now gone, he was putting all his energy into the fight. No not a he, definitely a she. Her reddish-brown hair flowed back as she resisted a powerful Force-shove from the Sith Lord. _Could it truly be her?_

gBastila, we have to move now," said Brianna urgently, snapping her attention back to them. Even if it was Kaya, that could wait. For now, they had a much more obvious problem to deal with.

She stepped forward, her eyes hard. "Jedi, to me. Keep in formation until we reach their lines, that way they won't be able to single you out beforehand. Keep clear of Vandar, I'll deal with him."

While Brianna might have been able to stand up to him, Bastila knew that she was the most powerful Jedi there by a substantial margin. The worrying part was that she did not know how dangerous Vandar was. Hopefully the training she had received recently would impart her with some sort of an advantage. She started forward at a jog, the others quickly falling in behind her. By now the other group of Jedi had been all but overwhelmed; only Orrin, Tathleen and two others were still fighting. She quickened her pace. Orrin fell to Vandar's blade.

gFor the Jedi!" she cried as she launched herself at the tiny green master who had betrayed them all.

------------------------------------------------

Lignance was beside himself with rage. Years of careful planning, all undone by a few words from this 'Morningstar' person. How had he known? Lignance had been setting events in motion since he'd been elected to council a few weeks after Exar Kun's death, forty years ago. He had almost single-handedly canonised points of law that seemed to make the Jedi order purer, while in fact they had done the exact opposite. They had stagnated it by largely separating it from the people it was meant to serve, weakened the flow of strong blood by forbidding Jedi to marry. The law only allowing young children to be taken he was particularly proud of, it had cut down their recruitment dramatically while ensuring a supply of Jedi who were largely oblivious to the Galaxy, its people and their needs. He had been at the forefront of making sure that the order had no active part in the Mandalorian Wars. It had all concluded with the disillusionment and betrayal of Revan, which led to the final collapse of the order and the way clear for the rise of a new power, or so Lignance had thought.

But then the impossible had happened, the order had been revived! There had been a few efforts over the years, which Lignance had made sure to stamp out; but this time it had been different. There had been massive publicity about it; and all of a sudden five hundred experienced, newly redeemed Sith prepared to take on anybody capable and willing to learn. And a leader to bind them all together, a figurehead for lesser men to worship. Marka, he had come to loathe even the sound of his name. The Jedi had given birth to the Sith as a counter-movement thousands of years ago, it was wryly amusing that the Sith would be the ones to give the order a rebirth.

Lignance, posing of course as Vandar, had rejoined this new order; reclaiming his old position if not his influence. Few even remembered him, and those who did were in the minority. But he'd been perfectly positioned to observe, while his old apprentice had played a more active role and slowly become his equal. There had been snags; like when Feasance had unwittingly alerted Mical to his presence, but that; like Korgul's appearance; they had managed to turn to their advantage. Everything had been heading towards a final, brilliant triumph, and now _this!_ He'd even been forced to kill the younger Lamar, his last remaining puppet. They were in a real mess now, even if they won the battle. Perhaps they'd have to go into hiding again.

He slashed out at the Jedi who had led his fellows against the Hidden Sith. He was repulsed, and attacked again. The young man had talent and good reflexes, but wasn't on Lignance's level. He fell with a gash in his thigh; it wasn't a mortal wound and Lignance moved in to finish him off. Then there was a blur of movement to his right-hand, and a flash of warning from his premonition sense. He leapt away, avoiding Bastila's blades.

The rest of the Jedi had now joined the fight, and were cutting down his Sith with grim efficiency. They were of far higher caliber than his people, he realised with cold shock. Feasance wasn't delaying them any more, had they killed him? No, there he was, engaging with Morningstar; senate boxes flying between them at intervals. Bastila leapt at him, forcing him to roll away. The Jedi Grandmaster came again, her weapon snaking out. This time he blocked, then jumped lightly over her head to stab her in the back.

Except, she wasn't there.

He had to dive again, his premonition coming only just in time to save him as Bastila's lightsaber scoured the air where he'd been. How had she moved so fast? He'd hoped for a quick kill, that didn't seem to be possible now, he would have to unleash his secret form against her. It was a technique he had slowly perfected over decades, turning the lightsaber off and on at intervals, making it able to negate a block. It was difficult to execute properly, and could be hazardous to use, but Lignance was confident in his abilities. He had combined it with the already popular form of Ataru, making a deadly combination.

He leapt at her, diving and spinning, slashing and stabbing. But she stood firm against his assault, she was even pushing him back. Even when he used his on-off technique, she simply moved her lightsaber to block so that when he ignited it; it immediately crashed into one of her blades. Impossible, how could she know how to defend against it when even he didn't? She forced his blade back and stabbed, he jumped and somersaulted backwards, landing in a crouch on a fallen senate box.

gHow is this possible?" he said, his large eyes widening.

gThat form is not new, traitor," Bastila told him, her eyes cold and narrowed. "In the Sith empire, a more complete version of it has been practised for hundreds of years. It is their form ten, Trakata, the third hardest to learn; and the most dangerous to use. The defences against it are also well studied."

gNo," said Lignance. If that was the case, then the talk of that form twelve Yoshi form probably hadn't been just a bluff, there truly was a form more powerful than anything they had ever conceived, and this woman had been trained in how to use it by the best swordsman he had ever seen; she could use it against him! He listened mutely as she stated her intention to do exactly that.

He watched in morbid fascination, convinced that he was about to die, as Bastila drew all her power within her body. To his eyes, she seemed to shine like a new sun. Then she attacked. Lignance tried with all his considerable ability to defend, but she was just too strong, too fast. He could sense all her blows coming, but couldn't possibly manoeuvre quickly enough to dodge and block them all. A cut opened his chest, cleaving his heart, but she didn't stop there. His left arm and leg went flying off, then she cut him in half diagonally from neck to thigh. All in less than a second.

Curiously, there was no pain.

------------------------------------------------

**Lehon, Temple**

Jaq Rand stood on the top of the Temple, looking out into the distance. He could feel the life-forces of the last of Jezebels puppet followers fading, and sighed. They hadn't been bad people, merely Force-sensitives with the potential to become Jedi or Sith. But since their usefulness had become stunted by the manner of their bonding, Jezebel had decided to get rid of the entire lot of them and start afresh. Revan was merely taking care of her dirty work before she killed him.

gIs Uncle Marka coming to rescue me?" said Lehon for the umpteenth time.

Jaq carried on looking into the distance. "I told you, it will be your father who comes."

gI don't have a father," said the boy softly. "You killed Auntie Trixie, why?"

Jaq sighed, he had slaughtered the boy's entire foster family and now he kept on questioning him about individual members. He turned, noticing again the impossibly blue eyes the boy had inherited from his mother. "Because my mistress told me to, happy?"

gThat's what you said about Uncle Darem, and Cousin Franci, and…"

gForce, do you ever shut it?" Jaq shouted angrily, stunning the child into silence.

It didn't last long, a few moment's later Lehon said quietly, "You're a bad man. Uncle Marka will come and get you, and you'll be sorry."

Jaq looked at Visas, who was standing a little way away holding Marka's daughter Belaya. "I hope he doesn't, I liked him," he confessed. The boy gave him a look of utter confusion.

Jaq knew that as soon as Revan was dealt with, Jezebel would be looking for new prey, a new obsession. She was like that. There was no ways this would end with Revan's death. Jaq wanted her to be stopped, he dreamed of it every night. But he was bound to her will, he couldn't do anything except protect her interests. His life had become a living nightmare. More and more, Jaq was contemplating suicide.

Hanharr gave a roar, raising his wicked-looking blades above his head. Jaq supposed he was announcing Revan's arrival. Sure enough, a minute later the massive stone and metal door slid open, revealing the blondie Mical and Revan, both in Jedi robes with light armour plates incorporated into the design. Curiously, Revan's overcloak was a deep shade of purple.

gIt's Uncle Marka!" said Lehon happily.

gNo; that's your father, Revan," Jaq explained. "See, his face has no scars."

gIt's Uncle Marka," the boy insisted, "I can feel it."

Jaq's heart sank. Now he would have to kill the boy.

------------------------------------------------

**Nal Hutta, Abandoned Town**

Dustil was tired. Very tired. Using the Sword of Vengance was nearly as taxing as Yoshi Ma, a large part of that being the added weight of the swords, and they had been fighting for nearly ten minutes now. Revan must be at the edge of his strength, judging by his movements. But Korgul, while breathing heavily, was still just as fast.

gIt's over," the murderer said. "I thank you for a most enjoyable fight."

gNot yet it isn't," Dustil countered, panting.

gPlease, you're exhausted. And your partner can barely stand."

Dustil moved to Revan's side, and rested the Sword of Mercy against his arm. _"Grab onto to the blade, quickly," _he whispered.

gWhat are you doing?" said Korgul.

Revan gripped on so tightly that it cut into his hand.

gStop!" The assassin started forward, but at that moment Dustil released the power of the sword. Energy poured into his tired body, revitalising him instantly. He rushed forward at his enemy. Revan was with him, also recovered. Korgul looked shocked, but fought back all the same. This time though they had the advantage, he was wearing out, and it was he could do to hold them at bay.

They broke apart as Korgul pulled away. There was madness in the murderer's eyes, a determination to win no matter what. Dustil knew the feeling, he was sure he looked the same. He could almost see the cogs turning in the other man's head, trying to work out a way to beat the two of them. He glanced down at the Sword of Mercy. It didn't _look_ any different. But he couldn't feel any power pulsing from it any more. There would be no more complete revitalisations. Hopefully the assassin didn't realise that.

Korgul's expression had gone back to focused, and he flicked a dial on his lightsaber. It started humming so loudly it was almost painful to listen to. Dustil recognised the sound, it was the sound of a lightsaber being charged to maximum power; a modification used to cut through particularly stubborn materials. But why? Neither him nor Revan were wearing any armour, even the lightest would have slowed them. Unless he thought he would cut through his swords. Could he damage them?

Once again Korgul attacked, they moved to meet him. The assassin was moving with a new resolve, and seemed to be attacking him primarily, circling as they traded blows to try and keep Revan off him. When the lightsabers clashed there was a sound as loud as a starship's laser battery firing. In contrast, there was a dull thudding when the powered up lightsaber hit either of his swords.

Force, his swords _were _being damaged! Every blow was cutting into them deeper. Korgul's cortortis-edged sword was also looking worse for wear, but it had been taking it for much longer and was still holding up. If this continued…then it happened. The lightsaber hit a badly damaged section in the middle of the Sword of Vengance, which had been taking most of the hits, and the head went flying off. A follow-up stab with the cortortis sword sliced deep into his right hand, he cried out and dropped what was left of the weapon.

Revan noticed his predicament and attacked hard, forcing the other man back. Dustil was furious, the murderer had cut him, he'd broken his sword. Without thinking he leapt high at the assassin, pouring all his Force-power into his strength, gripping onto the Sword of Mercy with both hands; ignoring the pain; and slashed down with all his might.

The assassin pushed Revan back and raised his sword to block as he pulled his lightsaber back to stab. Their swords impacted with a shockwave that blasted their faces with air. Korgul's arm held firm, but his sword didn't. The Sword of Mercy sliced clean through, and deep into the other man's shoulder blade. Blood splattered, hitting his face. Korgul stabbed, or tried to, but he'd lost all control of his right hand and his lightsaber had dropped to the floor. For an instant he just stared at Dustil, then threw the sword at him, yanked the blade out with a spray of blood, and grabbed his lightsaber off the ground. He was bleeding heavily, but gave no sign of being affected by the pain. Then he turned tail and fled.

Revan raced after him, but it was clear that he couldn't possibly catch up, he made a throwing motion and then slowed down and stopped. Dustil caught up with him.

gWhy did you let him go?" Dustil said angrily, holding his cut hand. "Couldn't you have thrown your lightsaber into his back?"

gAnd if he'd turned and caught it," said Revan, "He could have come back and finished us both off. No, what I did was better."

gWhat did you do?"

Revan told him, and before the end Dustil was smiling maliciously.

------------------------------------------------

**Coruscant, the Senate Building**

The fight did not last much longer after Vandar's death. The Sith, despite outnumbering the remaining Jedi two to one, were not nearly on the same level. They had fought initially as an organised group, slowly giving ground, not allowing the Jedi to get among them. The breakthrough had come when Revan's apprentice Hugas had fired a large ball of fire into them.

Bastila had never seen a Force-power remotely like it, it seemed to defy explanation. What a terrible ability! The man had spent a good two minutes growing the bright burning ball between his hands, when it had finally been released it was devastating. In an instant all the air had been sucked in, then a blinding explosion and a deafening boom. Five Sith had been killed instantly, and most of the others burned badly. This despite the reflexive defences they'd erected. Even the Jedi, further away, had been bowled over by the shockwave. They were up an instant later, and on the shell-shocked Sith, savagely avenging their fellows.

The Sith had still offered some resistance, they held the advantage of numbers, but then Morningstar's short companion had got amongst them. She'd been death in motion, killing in all directions with her twin golden blades. The Sith's formation had fallen apart after that, and the fight had degenerated into a host of duels, all of which had been concluded relatively quickly.

Then it was over, Bastila quickly counted the survivors. There were ten still standing, besides herself, but there were also some badly wounded who would probably pull through. Her entire group that she had come in with was intact, she noted with an audible sigh of relief. They had taken two Sith captive.

gMaster Bastila," she turned to see the Kiffar council member, Tathleen address her. "I'm sorry I ever suspected you, I'm so sorry," Tears were slowly running down her cheeks.

gIt's alright," she replied awkwardly. "Did you check on Master Lamar?"

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because the other Jedi Master sank to her knees and started wailing. Bastila pattered her stiffly and said, "There, there." She wished Mical were here, he would know what to do. She was no good as a comforter.

There was a growing applause from above them, and Bastila risked a glance upwards. The senators who had remained were all on their fleet, clapping; cheering; whistling; stamping and making a general cacophony. But a well meaning one. The other senate boxes were beginning to fill up, senators were retuning to view the final triumph. Bastila allowed herself a grin and raised her hand in acknowledgement. The applause swelled. But then as she lowered it, the noise grew even louder, what was going on?

Looking down, she saw the reason. Morningstar walked up to them, dragging behind her a wriggling sack. The shield was gone from her face. Bastila felt a lump grow in her throat. It definitely was Kaya, no doubt about it. How was she alive?

gQuite an audience," said the other woman with a smile. "I daresay we'll be seeing this one bouncing around Holo-net for a while."

gKaya… you are Morningstar?"

gI am," said Kaya, she didn't seem too happy about it. "The video evidence should be enough prove the necessity of your actions, but just to wipe away any uncertainty I brought you this," she said, tapping the sack, which was now moving and moaning. It wasn't a sack at all, it was a body and head, covered with loose robes. Treken Rae, Darth Feasance, minus his arms and legs.

gI'll tell you everything," the wreck of a man mumbled.

gTorture victims generally do," said Kaya, her eyes as hard as sapphire.

Bastila turned back to her half-sister. "Kaya, there's something I have to tell you…"

She was cut off by the other woman's finger on her lips. "Save it, I already know. We can discuss it later. For now, we need to act fast. I need you to get every single Jedi currently on Coruscant in the Jedi Temple."

gBut why?"

gThere's no time. Bastila, I need you to trust me on this."

Kaya had changed a lot, Bastila realised. She was far more assertive and decisive. There was also a streak of nastiness she had never noticed in her before. Gone was the old Kaya, the gentle Jedi everybody couldn't help but love. In its place was a woman to be reckoned with. Bastila didn't like the change, even if she understood the necessity behind it. She started to move. She would carry out her sister's orders, she owed her far more than that after today.

------------------------------------------------

**Lehon, Temple**

Marka had learned a long time ago that fear was a dangerous emotion to have going into a fight. He knew dozens of techniques to dispel it; none of them were working today. Standing before Jezebel Torin was comparable to an ant against a hurricane, the sheer power that pulsed from her was that incredible. It wasn't his impending death that made him so afraid, he had faced death many times before, it was the fact that one of Jezebel's companions was holding his daughter. Why were both her and Lehon here? She should be on Nal Hutta with Korgul, he would have felt far better had that been the case. He was imitating Never's Force signiture perfectly, but Jezebel had known him personally; albeit a long time ago, sooner or later she would realise he wasn't Revan. And as soon that happened, Belaya and Lehon would die, and there would be nothing he could do.

Marka had been warned, but little could have prepared him for the sight of the Exile. Beside him, Mical moaned with pure terror. Much help _he _was being. Jezebel's entire left side was covered in metal plates, a strange whirring noise coming from her chest indicated that there were mechanics involved in her breathing. Her left leg and arm were both mechanical, and thick enough to make her look lopsided, the arm long enough to come down to the floor; with three fingers extended like a tripod. She was in black and silver robes, what skin was exposed on the right side was covered in burns. Her face was half masked, with an artificial red eye, and half exposed burned skin. What little hair remained hung in limp strands. How had she ever survived whatever disaster had befallen her?

The huge wookiee beside her growled something, and then let out an unearthly howl, before slashing the air madly. Marka hadn't seen many wookiees, but knew that madness was rare among them. They made a strangely fitting pair, Jezebel and Hanharr, despite being different species'. Both ugly as sin, where they once could have been good looking, and twisted beyond all sanity.

gWelcome, Revan," said Jezebel, he could have collapsed with relief, she thought he was him. But that would have given the game away, so he kept his face schooled. "So nice to see you again after so many years. Eleven years, Revan, eleven years of hell. By the time I'm done with you, you will fully appreciate what you did to me." Her voice was hoarse and sounded like rocks being ground together.

Marka's eyes were scanning those behind the Exile. Lehon, his nephew, was being held back by a man while his daughter was held in the arms of a Miralukan woman. Jaq and Visas, Mical had called them. But Marka remembered them from a few months back, when they had both come to Bastila's room on that space-station. Knowing who they were now, he was glad he'd driven them away.

Jezebel was still on her monologue, she seemed to have a lot to say. Marka was only half-listening, he didn't really care about all the grievances Jezebel had against him; or rather who she thought was him. She was crazy, he knew, so sooner or later she would attack him. If he pressed the right buttons, perhaps he could make her mad. Normally that wouldn't be a good idea with someone as powerful as Jezebel, but in this situation it could make her forget about the hold that she had over him; the children behind her.

gWell?" she said, bringing his attention fully onto her, "What do you have to say for yourself, Revan?"

Marka just looked at her silently.

gSPEAK!" The air all around her blasted out like a wave, knocking over her companions. Mical was sent back stumbling by the force of it, but Marka stood firm. He was worried for a moment about the children, but Jezebel's underlings had protected them and they were fine, if frightened and crying. After a moment, her companions touched them on their foreheads and put them to sleep, with careful glances at their mistress.

Marka took a breath. "What is there to say? Did you expect me to grovel, beg for your forgiveness. I've done some despicable things in the past, but my actions towards you give me no shame at all." It was true, he hadn't done anything to her. "You have slaughtered millions of innocents, Jezebel the Exile, by your own hand. For that you cannot be forgiven. You will die, and I will be the one to kill you."

Jezebel just looked at him, then she started to laugh. It was a rough, grating sound; and it set his teeth on edge. "Oh this is rich. Revan, you presume to judge ME! You, who betrayed the Republic and caused a war that killed millions, a war that's effects are still being felt today. And you really think you can kill me, ha."

Not quite the effect he had been going for, but then he'd never been that good with words. Perhaps a different tack. "Before we begin, can I ask that you let the children go?"

gYou presume to ask me favours? Besides, they can't possibly escape this planet on their own. They stay right where they are, it's my surety that you don't try to make a break for it."

gI only ask because I don't want them to get in the way."

Jezebel thought about it for a moment. "Fine. Jaq, Visas, take them down to the basement. You can look after them until it is over."

She had her own reason for doing this, Marka realised. They probably held a large portion of her power, by putting them out of harms way she was ensuring her victory. But he didn't dare attack them as they walked past, carrying the sleeping children. Meanwhile, Hanharr moved past them to block the exit.

A few minutes after they had gone, Jezebel had been talking the entire time, Marka perked up when her tone suggested that she had reached the end. "I've been looking forward to this for a long time."

gI noticed," said Marka. He looked at Mical, and indicated with his eyes backwards, towards Hanharr. The other man gave a tiny nod. Marka drew and ignited his double-bladed lightsaber with one hand and with the other put on a pair of sonic-dampeners. "Shall we?"

He was answered by a lightning blast that could have lit up half of Coruscant.

------------------------------------------------

**Nal Hutta, Orbit, The 'Indaba'**

Rear Admiral Florien Lorn looked over his strategy map intently. The blockade was still well in place, there would be no escape for Hutt rebels. They would surrender to their ground forces, or die. The Hutts had pooled all of their collective resources for the defense of this planet, but they couldn't hope to match the military might of the entire Republic. They really should have surrendered already.

His comm.-link bleeped, and an image came up showing a red star. That was the signal, the signal from Revan. Korgul was in his invisible stealth ship, and trying to escape. Normally it would be impossible to track a ship like the 'Intangible', however if Revan had been successful in placing his transmitter it was a different story. He turned to his sensors, noting how a small blip had appeared, halfway through the planets atmosphere. It was less than a hundred kilometres from them.

gCharge up the multi-laser, aim at the personal tracking device," he ordered. "As soon as they exit the atmosphere we'll hit them.

gYes sir."

Lorn sat back in his seat. Today was a good day. It would see the end of the Hutt Conglomerate, and now the end of Korgul as well.

------------------------------------------------

**Nal Hutta, Orbit, The 'Intangible'**

Korgul sat still as one of his Phantoms tried to stanch the bleeding. The wound was deep, his muscles and tendons severed. He would be needing more than just a field operation to get this right. That meant returning to the Empire in defeat and shame. Impossible, he was Korgul, a living; breathing nightmare. He did not lose. At the same time though, there was a grudging respect for those who had defeated him.

gRevan Oneiro, huh," he said aloud, ignoring the quizzing look his subordinate gave him. A man to watch in the coming war. That Dustil boy had been good too, although without his swords he might not be as much of a threat.

A curious sense of calm washed over him, it was something he had not felt since his… creation. Always there had been a drive to do something, to kill someone. But now, for the first time, there was peace. He had lost, and yet he was glad of it. He had met men capable of beating him. Two against four, and yet they had won. He could almost hope that they survived when the Republic was annihilated. But he would be back, he knew, he would be sent back by his Master to finish the job. Then there would be no mistake. A new emotion settled in his stomach, a kind of sadness. Regret?

gMaster, the Republic flagship is bearing down on us," called Delta from the cockpit. He was the highest ranking Phantom left. Of the twenty-four that had set out with him from the Empire, only seven remained.

Korgul breathed deeply. He didn't want annoyance to spoil his newfound calm. "Take evasive manoeuvres then, you know what to do." They were in an undetectable stealth ship, why had he even bothered to say anything?

gIt's just that, they're powering up their main weapon and; well; they're at the wrong angle to be aiming for any ground targets."

And the Hutts had no space-fleet left, the Republic had made sure of that. An idea occurred to Korgul, he reached behind his back and felt along it. He found a small round disc stuck there.

gClever boy," he said, admiration in his eyes.

The world exploded into light.

------------------------------------------------

**Lehon, Temple**

Mical ran towards the mad wookie, ignoring din coming from Jezebel's unleashed Force-powers. He knew that Marka was powerful, but no-one could last against that sort of strength. They had to cut off the source of her power. That was his job. Marka had better stay alive until then.

The huge animal roared, and charged. Mical was struck by a strange sense of déjà vu. This time though, he used his lightsaber, powering up his body with the Force. Hanharr, strong and fast as he was, did not stand a chance against a fully trained Jedi Master. In two moves he was in three pieces, his limbs twitching and body shaking as his eyes began to cloud over. Mical ignored him and started to run down the ramp. _One down, two to go._

There was a thunderous boom from up above. Mical shuddered and quickened his pace.

------------------------------------------------

Marka had a lot to be thankful for. No matter how much lightning Jezebel shot at him, as long as he had his lightsaber he could stop it indefinitely. The sonic-dampeners stayed around his ears and eyes meant that sonic shockwaves would have virtually no effect him. She seemed to have no knowledge of how to create any form of Force-fire, which he would have been totally defenceless against. And she obviously lacked the subtlety for mental attacks.

But that still left her formidable arsenal of telekinetic abilities.

He was flung from one side to the other, into walls and the floor. Only half the time he managed to land on his feet, the rest jolted him painfully. He had the feeling though that Jezebel was only toying with him at this point, if she truly wanted him dead he would have been crushed in her grip; or barring that she would have disarmed him and then fried him with lightning.

Jezebel sent him tumbling towards the floor with sudden, deadly power; from about ten meters up. Marka quickly twisted himself around, and sent a Force-wave of his own into the floor as he struck, absorbing the impact. The double-blow created a boom that would have shattered his eardrums had it not been for the dampeners. The landing shook him, and he fell into a sitting position.

Jezebel smiled, "Revan, you are pathetic. Did you really think you would be able to stand against me?" She barked a short laugh, and pointed at him. "This proves it, you can't. You are weak, _Jedi_, perhaps if you'd stayed on the dark path you would be more of a match for me."

Marka forced himself back up, glaring at her resentfully. His legs wouldn't stop shaking.

gAnd in case you were counting on that fool Mical rescuing you, even if he killed both Jaq and Visas I would still be far more powerful than you. But I'll tell you a secret, they locked basement behind them. There's no way for him to get in. And he did me a favour by ridding me of Hanharr, when you die I will repay him by taking him back into my service."

If that was true, he was truly on his own, he couldn't hope for any aid. And the death of the wookie hadn't made any substantial difference to her. He would have to win it -somehow- with his own skills and abilities. He could pretty much forget about using his lightsaber against Jezebel, she'd already made it obvious that she wouldn't allow him to come anywhere near her; he would have to rely on his Force-abilities. Marka was strong in the Force, the only one in the order stronger was Revan, but he had always specialised in duelling. Now he would have to use the Force as a weapon. He could almost bless his late Master who had forced him to learn.

The first step was to visualise what your opponent was doing with the Force. Marka took a breath, and expanded his senses. In his minds eye, a picture formed of the solid shield she had around herself. It was about three meters high, and strong enough that he could probably have dropped the entire temple on top of her and she would be untouched. Jezebel was taking no chances. He could also feel her probing tendrils reaching in all directions, like giant feelers all around her.

It was then that Marka realised that there was something wrong. Jezebels tendrils felt …fluffy. A strange way to describe a Force-power, it was true, but they were insubstantial; like ash. They felt like the efforts of an adept who had tapped into much of their potential, but had little control over their abilities.

Understanding came to him. Jezebel had been trained in the ways of the Force during her time as a Jedi, but her power had grown massively since then. Greater power required greater levels of control, he knew from experience that as one's power grew they would have to train so that they could handle it. But for him it had had been a relatively slow thing, not so for her. She obviously didn't have anywhere near enough control for her level of Force-strength, which would make the subtler aspects of the Force; such as mind-manipulation; impossible for her to use. It would also make it difficult to focus on a single target. But how to put that knowledge to work?

Jezebel was still talking. She really liked to monologue, it seemed. Marka didn't mind, it was an exploitable weakness. It exposed things that your enemy could use, while giving them time to regroup and counter-attack. It could be likened to handing them live weapons. Force knew, he needed all the advantages he could get now.

Jezebel, finally realising that he wasn't responding and probably what he was doing, balled her fist and sent a powerful Force-wave at him. Not the strongest she had sent at him so far, but certainly not the weakest. This time Marka did not try evade it. Immediately he sent his own smaller, more concentrated wave to slow it down. Then he sent a thin, highly condensed shield slicing from the bottom to the top, effectively cutting it in half. And just at the moment when the wave hit, he raised a thick shield with all his might. The two halves of the wave struck hard, shaking him, but were deflected to either side, striking and ripping at the temple walls. A few large blocks were blown loose, and fell down to the jungle below.

Marka got off his knees, a small smile playing on his lips; it was the first time he'd managed to block head-on an attack by her. His satisfaction was muted though by the knowledge that he couldn't possibly keep duplicating the feat, his defense had drained him noticeably. And that hadn't been her most powerful attack, far from it. Then he noticed her expression, he hadn't expected her to look quite so livid.

gYou bastard, you tricked me!" she shouted. "I don't know who you are, but you're not Revan."

It was then that Marka realised his mistake. Throughout the fight he had been meticulously careful to disguise his Force-signature as that of Never's, but by releasing the full extent of his power his true signature had become readily apparent. There was nothing for it, the game was up. Even still, telling her his true identity couldn't help him, she would only realise the hold she had over him; his daughter.

Jezebel was talking again, Force; did she ever shut up? Marka listened, it no longer helped to play it out since Mical wasn't getting anywhere near Jaq or Visas, but it allowed him time to catch his breath and formulate strategy; while picking up whatever titbits she let slip. About the only thing he picked up from her tirade though was that she strongly suspected he was Marka. He didn't indicate either way. Let her wonder.

gVisas, kill the girl," Jezebel said into her comm.-link. Marka gave an involuntary start, and felt his spirit plummet. He'd given away his identity, not that it mattered now, for there was nothing he could do to save his daughter. The only thing left was for him to die. Then he remembered the pulse he had felt from his bond. He could feel his wife through it now, very faintly it was true, but it was there.

_Kaya, where are you? he thought, a pair of tears running down his cheeks. He brushed them away angrily, he had to be strong now. Our daughter is going to die. Please, Kaya!_

But even if she'd somehow heard him, what could she do?

------------------------------------------------

**Coruscant, Jedi Temple**

In the entrance hall to the temple, five hundred Jedi had gathered at Grandmaster Bastila's order. Already the news of what had happened in the senate building was well circulated, even though it had only happened half an hour before. Initiates, Padawans, Knights and a few Masters huddled together excitedly; talking in low voices. What, they wondered, could be the next stage of this operation? Were they to track down the remaining Sith?

Kaya emerged from the crowd, and stepped onto the (removable) raised platform overlooking the crowd. Bastila and the remaining council members on Coruscant were there waiting for her. The whispering rose to a hum as the crowd realised who she was. Even from where she stood she could hear whispers of 'Morningstar!'. Kaya stood facing them, and raised her arm, waiting for them to quieten down. Although many Jedi had answered the call, an eighth of the entire order, their numbers looked tiny in the temple's cavernous entrance hall; which could accommodate thousand if not tens of thousands.

When they had all quietened down, Kaya began to speak. "As you are already aware, we have just defeated a faction of Sith that has hidden within our very order for nearly half a century. I don't need to tell you how much damage they could have done had their plans been successful."

She paused. "By this time, Korgul will have been defeated by Revan Oneiro and Dustil Onasi," There was a general reaction, but she continued talking. "We will be receiving confirmation of this within the hour. But there is a third and final battle happening as we speak. The stakes for this one aren't as high as the other two, nevertheless we have to win if we're to have any chance against the Sith Empire when they invade. This battle is between Jezebel the Exile and my husband, Marka Cabanic."

She allowed them time to absorb the information and quieten down again, but as she took a breath somebody in the front of the crowd shouted out: "That's all well and good, but what does it have to do with us?"

gI'm glad you asked," she replied. "We can help him, all of us. I have a bond with my husband, and through it I can transfer Force-power to him. Unfortunately, the amount of power he needs is far greater than what I could possibly summon myself. That's where you all come in. You lend me your power, and I act as a conductor, transferring it all to him."

gIs that even possible?" said the speaker dubiously.

It was, the process was actually quite simple, but required great precision. All of them would have to bring their power to the surface, but against all natural instinct put up no defences against Force-based attacks. Then she would leech the power out of them using a Sith technique, and transfer it to Marka. Even the smallest mistake though would release uncontrolled Force-energy in violent waves or storms; which could be deadly.

It took nearly ten minutes to explain it to them, deal with all the questions and objections, and get them all prepared before she started siphoning off power. The amount that reached Marka wouldn't be nearly as much as what she was taking, but since there were so many there he would be receiving a boost many times greater than his own power.

Kaya was anxious, although she was careful not to show it to the others. She had had visions covering, in detail, how to deal with the Hidden Sith with the minimum of Jedi casualties; as well as how to guarantee victory against Korgul. But with Marka and Jezebel it was a bit more complicated. There was another variable, one she hadn't been able to predict at all; she wasn't even sure what it was. One thing she was sure of though was that it would mean the difference between Marka living and Marka dying. Light, let him live.

------------------------------------------------

**Lehon, Temple (basement)**

Visas turned her comm.-link off and put down the infant. Then she turned to him. "Well, what now. Is he the one?"

Jaq looked at her and sighed. Was he? Good question. Above they could hear the bubbling sounds of a lightsaber melting stone. Mical wouldn't get through in time, not even close, but his perseverance was admirable. Marka, could he truly be the one who could defeat Jezebel?

Jaq had known the entire time that it wasn't Revan, but had chosen not to reveal it. He didn't want to kill children. He and Visas had resolved to destroy their mistress, at all costs. The only problem was, there was only one way they could fight against her, and it could only be done once. They had to be sure that this was the right one, the one who could finish the job once she had been weakened.

gI think he could be," said Jaq finally.

gWhy?"

gIt's just something I felt when we first met him. He was the only one I ever met that I thought might have it in him to defeat her."

gThen it's decided."

gWhat are you guys talking about?" said Lehon.

Jaq turned to the boy. "Lehon, take your cousin and go hide behind the corner. I'm going to set the basement door to open in two minutes, don't come out until the Jedi Mical comes to get you."

gBut why?"

gThere's no time to explain, go!"

As soon as the children were out of sight, and Jaq had set the door lock, he turned to Visas. She looked sad, but also relieved, and had drawn her lightsaber. She was still as beautiful as ever. Jaq walked up to her, drawing his own weapon.

gI love you," he said, wrapping one arm around her smaller body and placing his lightsaber over her heart.

gI wish it could have ended differently," she sighed, mimicking his action. "But I'm glad to have loved, and been loved by you."

Emotion welled up in his chest, and he started to sob. He thought he could see tears run down Visas' sightless eyes. Then he kissed her, pouring all his emotion into that last kiss.

As one, they ignited their blades.

------------------------------------------------

Marka had given up on life. He was horrendously outmatched by an opponent who's power was even greater than his ability to comprehend, and by now his daughter would be dead. Jezebel was flinging him from wall to wall, blasting him with bits of gravel and hurling large rocks at him. She obviously wasn't content to kill him quickly. He defended as best he could, but it was hopeless, she was just too strong. By now the painkillers he had taken for his other injuries had worn off and his body was a mass of throbbing bruises and stinging cuts, making him want to embrace sweet oblivion. _I'm sorry, Kaya,_ he thought, _I tried._

_I thought there was no try!_

He nearly fainted with shock. _Who are you, what are you doing inside my head?_

_It's me, Kaya. I don't really have time to explain how this works, but it's a form of communication only those bonded can use._

At that moment, Jezebel struck him a glancing blow with the Force as he tried to evade her. He roared with pain as his already-sensitive abdomen was hurt again. His fingers spasmed, and his lightsaber dropped. He quickly tried to summon it, but was tripped up by a low blast that sent him somersaulting to the floor. When he looked up, he saw Jezebel holding both his weapon and his sonic-dampener.

gLooking for these?" she said, leering.

_I guess this is goodbye, he thought sadly. Without those two defensive items, Jezebel could kill him at leisure. Not that she hadn't been able to anyway. Now he would never have a chance to reconcile with his wife._

_Not yet it isn't, she shot back, I'm sending you the combined power of the Jedi order on Coruscant. I'll only be able to maintain it for two or three minutes, after that we'll all be drained. You have to defeat her in that time. And I'll be concentrated on transferring it, so we won't be able to communicate.  
_

_Wait, Kaya! But she was already gone._

Jezebel had been talking the entire time he had been communicating with his wife, he focused on her just in time to hear her last line. "This is the end for you, Marka."

Lightning lanced from her fingers, blazing towards him with such brilliance that turned the everything in his vision white. It was easily twice as powerful as her first attack on him, but this time he didn't have his lightsaber to absorb it. There was no sign of the power increase his wife had promised.

But even as he erected a shield, one hopelessly inadequate for Jezebel's attack, he felt his power expand. He couldn't believe it! In an instant his power had grown to dizzying heights, how much stronger was he now? Ten times, twenty? How had Kaya done this? No, no time to think, he had to defend. Bracing himself, he extended his arms, pouring his newfound Force-energy into his shield.

The noise as the lightning struck was deafening, pieces broke off the large cut stones on the floor and went flying into the air. He was still alive, he laughed with pure exhilaration. Marka couldn't see for all the light, but he sensed Jezebel's shock that he hadn't been killed instantly, and then her concentration as she strengthened the bolts threefold; finally unleashing her true strength. Marka had already been putting all his new power into the shield, he had nothing more to give. Even with his strength reinforced as it was, her lightning was just too strong. He closed his eyes, in a few seconds it would be over, his shield was already failing. Chances were, there wouldn't be enough of him left to bury.

Then a miracle happened, suddenly the lightning stopped. Marka got up, gritting his teeth against the pain; he could deal with it later. Jezebel was convulsing on the floor, screaming out at odd moments. Marka stared, what was she playing at?

gNo, don't leave me," she was moaning. "Don't leave me all alone."

Mical must have been successful, Marka realised. He had killed her two last companions. Her final bonds had been cut, her power broken. She was now as defenceless as a child.

Thinking of the simile reminded him of his daughter. White hot rage flooded him, she would be dead by now, thanks to this monster. She would get no pity from him. He struck her with a wave, sending her flying into the wall just above the door, where she slammed hard enough to split the stone. She fell at an awkward angle, crying out with pain. Then he summoned his lightsaber back, only to have it shoot past. He was more careful the second time, but even still it was a difficult catch. Marka looked down at his hands, he had been right, it was difficult to control so much power.

gPlease," Jezebel croaked from the floor, "Have mercy."

gYou are pathetic," said Marka, advancing on her. At the same time he was using his enhanced ability to heal himself, he had taken enough damage that he might not survive otherwise. What normally would have taken days, if not weeks, now took seconds. How many times more powerful was he? It was incredible, he was godlike. A demigod about to execute justice on this sinner. "You destroy wantonly for little or no reason, and then you presume to ask for _mercy?_ I will give you exactly the same mercy you gave to all your victims."

She looked around desperately, then flung out her arm. "Then die!" she screamed, lightning lancing from her fingers.

Apparently she hadn't lost all of her power, just most of it. Marka could easy have nullified her attack with his lightsaber, but instead focused and caught it in his hand; the lightning condensed and formed an ever expanding ball. Jezebel gasped, and pulled herself up, despite her broken bones. Then she stopped firing and tried to run. Not fast enough. Marka sent her own lightning back at her, as well as a powerful blast of his own from the other hand. She turned at the last moment, trying to shield herself; it was far too little far too late.

There was a blinding flash, a shriek cut off prematurely, a boom that shook the entire temple and sent faraway gizka's scampering, and a smell of burning flesh. Small charred pieces of metal stuck the far walls, and bounced off his shield. Otherwise, nothing remained of Jezebel the Exile.

Marka sighed, weariness overtaking him as he felt his artificial power wane and then disappear. It was akin to going from a chemically induced high to a low in seconds. _Kaya, are you there?_

_Yes, but I'm exhausted. I know there are things we need to discuss, but I'd rather wait until we can meet in person._

_You're right, he agreed. Have you heard yet if Revan succeeded?_

_Yes, he won. The Hidden Sith were defeated too, be sure to tell Mical._

That was good news, it had been the last thorn under his skin he'd needed to dislodge. _I will._

_And Marka,_

_Yes?_

_I'm glad you're alive._

Marka felt the connection break, and sighed. Just when he had decided to make a new life with Bastila, why did it all have to be so confusing. Should he go back to her? He could feel their bond pulse weakly. Force, what should he do? He pressed his fingers against his temples, it was too much to consider right now. First he had to rest.

He walked towards the ramp that led to the mid-levels, nearly stepping on a section of Jezebel's half-mask. The red artificial eye was still intact, although it had cracks running all the way through. Blood and tiny pieces of flesh were splattered over the edges. Marka examined it for a moment, then dropped it and moved on.

As he walked, he reflected. Having so much power had made him feel different. Immortal, omnipotent, above petty things like compassion and humanity. He didn't regret killing Jezebel, but he didn't like the arrogance he had done it with either. Perhaps she hadn't been anything more than one corrupted by her own Force strength. There were lessons to be learned here, the first along the lines of 'power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely'. The other was that one should know when to let go of power. Jezebel hadn't been able to, that had been her downfall. He hadn't had much choice in the matter, but if he'd had, would he have made the right one?

His thoughts stopped when he saw who was waiting for him at the bottom of the ramp. His eyes widened, and he let out a cry of delight. Mical stood there, smiling, with his daughter Belaya in his arms; and little Lehon beside them. He quickened his pace to reach them. There was an awkward moment when he stood in front of Mical, wondering what to say, but then the other man started laughing; filled with joy and relief. It was infectious, and Marka started laughing too, like he had never done before. He took his daughter from the other man, who then pulled him into a rough side-embrace. Belaya gurgled contentedly, and reached up to grab his nose. Meanwhile Lehon hugged his leg with a cry of 'Uncle Marka!'.

At last, he knew, it was over.


	14. Victory

**Star Wars: The Dark Empire**

**Episode 2 - Jenesis**

**Epilogue - Victory**

_One week later_

**Coruscant**

Trumpets blared and streamers flew. Pieces of coloured paper floated down in clouds as fireworks shot high into the air to explode in broad daylight. People of all species' cheered and clapped as the bands led the massive procession. The music, amazingly, was all in harmony; if incredibly loud. Dancers and acrobats on floating platforms performed the most elaborate moves with their teams, while clowns; jugglers; costumed performers and all kinds of others put on their own shows. If any of these acts wasn't quite up to professional standard, nobody noticed. For today was a day of celebration. The Suppression war was over.

Marka sat ill at ease, wishing he didn't have to be part of it. But then for every Jedi on Coruscant, plus the entire high council, attendance had been made compulsory. Bastila had seen to that, despite his protests, stating that they needed to be seen in an event like this which would attract massive publicity. He could see where she was coming from, but still didn't like being in the open where anybody could take a shot at him, despite Revan's assurances that all the Phantom's in the Republic were now dead.

He was sitting near the front of an open-canopy luxury speeder, which was coming up at nearly the back of the parade. Sharing it were his wife Kaya, Bastila and Revan. True, it was a good idea to put the four most famous together, but it made it very awkward for them all. After what had happened, there were a lot of emotions running high which hadn't had a chance yet to settle down. Silence prevailed between them, Bastila was making a few attempts at polite conversation with the driver, but that was it. Nobody dared speak to anybody else for fear of offending them or somebody else in the vehicle. To say the mood was tense would be a severe understatement.

Marka glanced across at Kaya, still amazed to see her alive. Their reunion hadn't been the happiest, especially since Bastila had been there. But it could have been worse, he concluded. He could hardly believe what Kaya had done, even after she had explained it all to him. Apparently she had had her first powerful, far reaching visions when she had given birth to their daughter. She hadn't been able to see everything she needed to know, but enough to act.

She had faked her death, in order to break free of the confines of the order and her responsibilities as a wife and mother. She'd known that the Hutts would betray them, and that the Republic would desperately need a symbol of hope to sustain them through the dark days ahead. She had to manipulate events in order to ensure his and Revan's respective victories. And she had to be able to take the Hidden Sith completely by surprise.

He was in total awe of her. It wasn't difficult to realise that she had single-handedly saved the entire Republic and the Jedi order, not to mention all of their lives. That reminded him of the obscure line in the prophecies, how the Prophet would save all of the other hearts just before the war with the Empire; two directly and one indirectly. She had saved Bastila by being there, and him by transferring power to him using some method he had no understanding of, and saved Revan by sending Dustil there with the Swords of Justice. There was no doubt about it, she was the Prophet!

_Protector, battle winner - Bastila._

_Prodigal, renamed thrice - Revan._

_Swordsman, feet of iron - Himself_

_Prophet, of great sacrifice - Kaya._

Both Revan and Kaya had been given places in the high council, replacing Astin and Vandar. It was both in recognition of their achievements, and because there truly weren't that many Jedi experienced enough to take on the mantle. Even some of the current council members were very new to the order. Kaah Ohtok was one of them, he was currently near the head of the parade, since he was the one who had accepted the Hutt's unconditional surrender. They had only given in to the demand for it ultimately because of the circulating news of the defeat of Korgul, Jezebel and the Hidden Sith. Now, all over the galaxy, Republic officials were seizing their ill-gained assets.

Marka though was troubled. The news of his left hand's defeat would have reached the Dark Lord's ears by now, it couldn't be long before the Sith invasion began. Why they had waited so long, he had no idea. Perhaps they had simply been allowing them time to put up as proper resistance. But even that didn't make sense, the whole point of war was to win! Or was there some other underlying motive?

In any case, the Republic was now stronger than it had been since before the Mandalorian Wars. The armies and fleets had been rebuilt and were still growing, the infrastructure to support them was in place. The Jedi order had grown to nearly four thousand members, all trained in the Sith way of fighting. There were enough of them to match the Sith in numbers. But most had had between six months and a years worth of training, they would be going against opponents with decades of experience. The coming conflict would not be decided by armies or fleets, though they would have a part to play, but by the Jedi and Sith. It would be a war between the two different sides of the Force.

He looked out his vehicle, there were about a hundred Jedi just ahead. Groups of them were giving a flashy show of synchronised lightsaber movement, which was one of their rookie-level training techniques. They were brave, putting themselves in terrible danger just agreeing to join the order at such a time. Marka's heart went out to them, how many would survive even a year of war against the Empire? Given two more years he could have created a force that would crush the Sith, but he didn't have two years. It couldn't be long now.

By now they were coming into the main square, and the driver indicated back to them. They all stood up, raising their arms and receiving the applause which had now grown to tumultuous proportions. Both Bastila and Kaya had become famous for defeating the Hidden Sith, especially since it had been captured on video and was now circulating throughout the galaxy. Kaya especially, now that her identity as Morningstar had become known. And since he had beaten Jezebel, the greatest single scourge the Republic had ever seen, his stock too had risen even higher. Only Revan wasn't receiving universal praise, Korgul hadn't been so well known. But they were spinning that story with sympathetic journalists in such a way that it should be enough to dispel his old infamy at being the former Dark Lord. Even still, no matter what he did for the people, it was likely he would never be totally forgiven.

Marka glanced backed at Kaya, remembering the choice he'd been forced to make. Her or Bastila; his wife or his lover. He'd felt betrayed at Kaya's leaving him, but knowing the circumstances it would have been unfair to hold them against her. To have stayed with Bastila would have been the easiest thing to do, but that would have broken both Revan and Kaya's hearts, and left their children with broken families. In the end he'd done the right thing, and shelved his feelings for Bastila. Revan had been overjoyed, he could now pursue his wife again. It seemed though that he was back to step one. Marka was in a similar position, but that was by personal choice. He didn't feel comfortable touching Kaya not knowing who she was any more. They all needed time to adjust, time that they probably wouldn't have.

Once he had made his decision known, Kaya had shared one final revelation. One that was growing in her belly, and had been now for five months. It was noticeable lump now, although she hadn't had much trouble hiding it with loose robes. Marka wasn't sure what to think, too much had happened for him to be happy yet. With luck she would be able to have it before the war began in earnest. He did respect though that she'd waited for him to decide before revealing it, so as not to force his hand. It was amazing that she'd been able to get pregnant so soon after the birth of their first child. This time, she had promised, it would be a boy. He believed her. He would name him after his father.

gWhat I don't understand," Revan said out of the blue, "Why Vandar didn't come out during the Jedi civil war, back when I was Dark Lord. With his help, my Sith would surely have defeated the Republic. Even if he'd come out later for Malak, both sides were close enough that the balance would have swayed."

gThe Hidden Sith were the remnants of Exar Kun's Sith order, they were never linked to the order you created," Kaya explained. "In fact they were against them the entire time. They wanted to take over the Republic themselves, slowly manoeuvring themselves into positions where they could do that. Your regime was a threat to this. They did everything in their power to beat them, they put their entire weight behind the Jedi order. They didn't make much difference in the end, but if they'd turned; like you said; it could have tipped the balance. It was only after you left the Republic that they started playing a more active role in galactic affairs."

Marka wasn't listening, he knew it all already. He'd been the one to gather all the information from the crippled self-styled Sith Lord. Any of the other ex-Sith could have done it, but he didn't want any of them reverting to there old ways yet. They probably would anyway once open war started, but for now they could remain true to the Jedi ideals. As their leader, only he should have to sully his soul with torture. His victim had become very forthcoming on the second day, and by the third Marka had exhausted his supply of useful information. The man was scheduled for a public trial next week. The other prisoners had pleaded redemption and been spared, but not Feasance. For his crimes were against the Republic and he had to be held accountable to Republic law.

He thought back to the kindly, venerable Master Vandar. He would have been the last one he would have suspected of being a Sith. Amazing how one who had seemed so perfect on the outside nursed a well of malice and ruthless ambition inside. Marka was aware that he too had a darker side, one that he still sometimes let slip of the reigns on. But he didn't allow himself to be controlled by it, he forced himself to act selflessly, to think of the good of others, even when it went against his nature. But to him, that was what being a Jedi was all about.

There was a space between the buildings to the left, through it he could see the Jedi temple. A thin trail of smoke still rose from the nether regions. Earlier that day they had consigned all the Jedi who had fallen to the Hidden Sith to the flames, including Master Astin Lamar. Marka had never liked the man, but he still grieved his passing. In hindsight, it was heartbreaking to realise how he had been indoctrinated into that terribly stagnant path by his mentor; Master Vandar; and finally murdered by him, the one he had respected and admired the most.

There had been two others in the pyres, ones that probably couldn't have been classified as Jedi, but he did them the honour all the same. Jaq and Visas, Jezebel's followers. They had made the ultimate sacrifice to ensure his victory. He had never known them, and only met them on one occasion before. Now he wished he had, they had saved his life.

The parade continued for a good few hours more without incident, by the time it had finished Marka was chafing. He didn't like doing nothing for so long. Revan was shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he was probably feeling the same way. If Bastila and Kaya shared the sentiment they were not giving any sign of it. He forced himself to view it like any assignment, all the objectives had been covered with no unexpected snags, it was successfully accomplished. Now he could move onto something more stimulating.

They landed in the mid-levels of the Jedi temple. Besides the guards, there was a man waiting for them in Jedi robes, complete with light cortortis-woven plates incorporated. Marka recognised him, young Orrin Ithker, one of the unsung heroes of the battle in the Senate. He supposed he shouldn't be thinking of him as young, he was the same age as him. He was also a Jedi Knight now, Bastila had promoted him personally when he'd come out of therapy yesterday, a rare honour; without having to go through the trials. But what could he be waiting for them for, with that expression?

Orrin stepped forward as they were getting out, and Marka guessed what was going on. "The Empire's made a move, hasn't it," he said, it wasn't a question. "Where?"

gBelkadan and Helska, we only received word half an hour ago. They're in the process of being overrun," said the other man grimly.

Marka looked back at his companions, studying their reactions. Revan stood a little straighter, the set of his shoulders betraying his eagerness. For him it would mean a chance to gain face, people would forget his past crimes if he could give them victories. Also as their pre-eminent strategist he would undoubtedly be spending a lot of time with their primary battle-meditator. This was his best chance to get his wife back. Bastila looked resigned to the situation, they had all know it was coming, she was largely echoing Marka's sentiments on the matter. Kaya looked gut-wrenchingly sad, with her abilities she probably had already had insight to the terrible future that was; thankfully; beyond the rest of their vision. And she might not even be able to reveal most of it to them, because that would steer it in the wrong direction. Marka felt his heart go out to her, it was such a lonely path she would have to travel. He longed to hug her, to let her know she wasn't alone. But he couldn't; not yet.

They all knew what to do, they had planned for this months in advance. All that would be needed were a few minor adjustments to take the recent events into account; all of which had strengthened their position and sealed potential problems.

gBastila, I think Revan should go with you," he said, taking charge. Initially the plan had been for him to go with her, but that had been before the prodigal's return. "I'll lead the council in your absence, and organise the order. I need a month to get the Jedi ready and mobile, but if possible I'll join you before then with a smaller group."

gPlease do," she said, "I doubt we'll be able to hold out that long."

He turned to Kaya, "I don't expect you to explain everything you do to me, I understand a bit of how shifting futures work, and so do the rest of the council. We voted that when war came, anything you did will have our full backing; I understand that the senate is passing a similar bill. We haven't given you any duties, so you have time to do whatever you have to. You have our full support, Kaya, please don't keep us in the dark all the time."

She gave no hint of surprise, she'd probably known it was coming. "I'll do what I can," she promised. She had certainly become cryptic.

Bastila and Revan meanwhile had left to prepare for their departure. Marka signalled for Orrin to follow him, gave his wife an awkward wave, then headed up to the nearest long-range communication's console. There was so much to do before they could be ready. Besides getting in contact with all of the academy masters, he'd have to recall Ramon and his fifty students. Ramon had originally given him a time-frame of six months to prepare them, there was still a month left of that time. Hopefully some of the faster ones would be ready immediately. Dustil had rejoined them to finish his training a few days ago, missing the parade. Only when those Jedi, their elite, were mobile would they truly be ready.

He saw Orrin following faithfully at his side out the corner of his eye. He smiled. It was heartening to know men like him would fight by his side. Only five months before Orrin had been a military academy student, now look at him! It must have been one of the fastest promotions to knighthood from being totally untrained in the history of the order. It was premature though, one of Bastila's worse decisions, it had happened before he'd been able to learn of it and intervene. If Orrin was to survive the next few months and continue to grow would be best to pair him with a more experienced Jedi, perhaps one of the ex-Sith. He had talent, and Marka was determined not to waste him. If he survived long enough he could serve as a Jedi strike leader.

Marka sighed and adjusted his shoulders, trying to get used to the weight on them. So much depended on him. But this was what he'd been born for, he knew without a shadow of a doubt. He was the one to defy the Dark Lord, despite being born into his servitude. And if there was a way to win, Kaya would find it, no matter how high the odds were stacked against them. For the first time since his betrayal, Marka felt a confidence born of a belief that they could actually prevail.

_We've made our moves. Darth Messiah, you will know by now that your assassin is dead; Marka thought. Now the true war between us begins. You've waited too long. We're ready, the hearts are united to defeat you. Come with your armies, your fleets and your Sith. Whatever it takes, we will defeat you. _


End file.
